Ash Seeketh Embers
by Khanmon
Summary: Four strangers awake in the Cemetery of Ash, and set out to uncover the secrets of Lothric, the linking of the flame, and the enigmatic forces that converge on the kingdom.
1. I: Cemetery of Ash

**Hey, all - this is actually a reupload from earlier today;  
I got some weird, janky html-looking text, and I couldn't  
fix the problem at work, so I simply deleted and reuploaded  
it!**

 **Btw, I'm no historian, but I'll try to stick as close to the  
lore as narratively possible! Thanks, guys.**

* * *

 _Yes, indeed._

 _It is called Lothric,_  
 _where the transitory lands of the_  
 _Lords of Cinder converge._

 _In truth, these Lords will abandon their thrones..._  
 _… and the Unkindled will rise._

 **I. Cemetery of Ash**

Among the weather-beaten ruins of Old Lothric lay the Cemetery of Ash, recently disturbed by the tolling of a great bell some distance beyond its walls, sending a murder of crows scattering into the winds. Deeper into the place was a pile of stone coffins and sarcophagi, discarded in a mass grave at the furthest end of the graveyard.

Four of the coffins shuddered momentarily, kicking dust from their surfaces. One of the lids moved, sliding off its base to the ground below, after which the same occurred with the other coffins. From within, four souls stirred.

The first to stand was a man, clad in faded Faraam armor, proud but clearly beaten down. His face carried an altruistic warmth, but was juxtaposed with a sternness illustrated with a scar that ran across his cheek, ending at his ash-colored goatee. He picked up his helmet, which he had found at his feet, and pulled it over his head, his sharp, hazel eyes peering through. In his hands he held a long spear and a shield, the latter adorned with the crest of a dragon. As he stood and adjusted his helmet, his attention was soon turned to the other coffins.

The second to stand was a woman, pale-skinned and golden-haired, exuding innocence and curiosity. A faint glow of wonder seemed to dwell in her blue eyes. The holy chime she clutched spoke to her faith and gentleness, yet the elegant mail of a sunless realm that she wore perhaps spoke to a firmer aspect of her personality. She had seen a wealth of troubles, but something had kept her resolute. The woman turned to the knight to speak.

The third to stand startled the duo, groaning and coughing as he pulled his aged, brittle body up from the coffin, still clutching his murky longstaff and aquamarine dagger. He wore the long robes of an Irithyllian court sorcerer, but from his head fell a comically wide-brimmed hat, one associated with the Crystal Sages of the Grand Archives. Clearly, he had many allegiances within the converged lands – curious, seeing as he was now clawing his way out of a coffin.

The three eyed each other cautiously, unsure of when to speak or what to say, when the last figure stood. She was lithe, draped in Lothric robes of prayer, which descended to both her elbows and knees. Her arms were covered in wrappings, and her trousers were cinched in and ended with the pointed shoes of a witch. Her face was unusual – haunting, but exotic in its beauty. Her skin was a light olive, and from both of her piercing, white eyes extended black lines in either direction, reminiscent of abyss-colored tears running both up and down, but never leaving. She winced at the sunlight above, and pulled her sorcerer hood up, hiding her visage. Her hand then went straight to the peculiar Eastern blade sheathed at her hip.

"Peace, all." The knight urged, moving his shield and spear to his back, "Stay thy weapons, please." He silently looked at each person, sizing them up in his mind. The holy woman and her visible concern, the old man and the large hat that blocked his visage, the mysterious swordswoman and the fire that faintly licked at her fingertips. After a quiet moment, the knight spoke again, "There must be a reason that we are dead no longer."

"Dead, you say?" The old sage remarked, stroking his wiry, silver beard. "Intriguing… I was unaware I had even died!" This elicited a stifled gasp from the praying woman, who responded gently, almost as a whisper: "Are… a-are we undead? By the sun – I've become a walking blasphemy… I…" her words fading into a murmur as she looked to the other woman for support, though she said nothing.

"U-Unless, perhaps… we've a divine calling?"

The knight nodded absentmindedly, before straightening his back and addressing the strangers, "Perhaps. But we will never know a thing if we remain here. I think a solution has presented itself – surely, we are all capable individuals. If we combine our strength and wits, we might all be able to escape this… graveyard."

This seemed to set the holy woman at ease, and the old man nodded with increasing intensity, as if he had retreaded the logical steps himself. The swordswoman did not respond, but she displaced her hand from her weapon.

* * *

They proceeded through the Cemetery of Ash, coming across a Hollow, who mindlessly shambled around until noticing them, when it immediately charged the group. The knight procured his spear and deftly sent it through the undead's torso, bringing it to the ground. A faint, white light emerged from the corpse, splitting into fourths and entering each member of the group. The holy woman gasped, but the sage chuckled. "Ah-hah, yes indeed! We have just absorbed the soul of a fallen creature." He explained, garnering the disbelieving looks of his newfound comrades.

"Y-You see, this confirms my previous theory. I daresay the old pilgrims were right, the sorry bastards… th-that is, we are Unkindled. We are cursed with undeath, yes of course, but through the absorption and channeling of souls, you see, we can transcend this!"

The knight gripped his spear, and spoke sternly, "You had better explain yourself, old man." The sage simply chuckled in response, "All in good time, my friend. I suspect that we shall uncover some answers rather soon, if this plays out the way I think it will." He continued forward, passing the knight and approaching a small gathering of mindless Hollows. "All you need to concern yourself with is staying alive – the rest shall work itself out."

Hollowed corpses hit the ground, and the faint howling of wind that had come to characterize this graveyard was now interrupted with the clattering of steel and soul arrows. The group had emerged from the cemetery proper, and had begun to ascend up a narrow path on the face of a cliff. The knight looked back a moment, and above him saw the sprawling expanse of the High Wall of Lothric. "I'll be…" he began, but never finished. They finished their ascension, and reached a small outcropping, adorned with a lone sight – a coiled sword, buried in a small mound of ash and bones. The party, particularly the knight and the holy woman, eyed it with suspicion. Most of the party, that is, as the swordswoman pushed her way up from the back, and extended her hand to the ashes.

Immediately, a controlled flame emerged from the ashes, and with great effort she turned to the group and spoke: "It's a bonfire." The old sage grinned and followed after her, as the two continued down the path toward a bell tower, still some distance away. The knight and holy woman looked at each other a moment, then quickly caught up with the others.

After felling more Hollows, the party came upon an archway, shrouded in a strangely thick wall of white fog. The sage eyed it curiously, likely wanting to experiment with it, or perhaps simply cast soul arrows at it. The swordswoman repeated her motion from before, but this time extended her hand toward the fog. The white wall hummed and howled as her hand entered it, and she soon found herself compelled to pass through completely, so she did so. The sage shrugged to the knight and woman, and beckoned them to follow him in. And so, the party passed through the wall of fog.

There was a shallow pool of water surrounding what appeared to be a shrine – a statue of some armored champion, impaled with a coiled sword, similar to the one at this 'bonfire' that the swordswoman had conjured. The party approached the shrine, and upon closer inspection, it became clear to the party that this was, indeed, not a statue at all. "That sword… it's the same as the one in that… bonfire. I think we can all intuit what would happen if I were to remove it from this champion's chest." The others nodded, and the sage replied, "Yes, yes. It will come to life and attack us, most assuredly. However, I don't think there's any other way forward, you see – that great door up ahead is locked." The knight looked beyond the statue and saw the large gate. This world he now inhabited was much unlike the one he left, and without the context of the society he once understood, he somehow knew the cause-and-effect of this encounter with the opening of that large door.

He breathed in, and pulled on the sword. With sickening resistance, the blade spiraled out of the figure's chest and landed on the ground. The statuesque champion lurched, as dust and stone fell from stasis, and placed a hand on the large halberd embedded in the ground next to it. It stood, dislodging the halberd entirely, and stood straight, almost as if reliving its proud origins. All was silent a moment.

The champion lunged forward, hefting its glaive straight toward the knight. A swift raising of his shield protected him from the worst of the blow, but sent him flying onto his back. The sage backed away a moment, expectant but still surprised at the sudden turn of events. He conjured a wave of soul arrows, which soared from his longstaff in all directions, before they all honed in on the champion, who was now flailing about with its great halberd. The arrows connected, sending the beast to its knees. At this point, the swordswoman abandoned her defensive posture, and charged the champion, piercing her blade through its chest, carrying out a devastating riposte.

The priestly woman knew what was coming next, and bent her knee in prayer, holding the chime close. Whispering an excerpt from a sacred text, she held the chime upwards, unleashing a brilliant aura around her – an aura that similarly touched the swordswoman, who now found the grip on her sword substantially stronger. With all her might, she pulled her blade back out of the champion's torso, a motion that now launched the sentinel onto its back.

After this display, the sage noticed the curious blade that the swordswoman wielded. It was an Eastern blade, a katana, if he recalled the name correctly. However, each stroke of this blade seemed to injure the wielder, too. Not directly, of course, as the woman was not covered in lacerations – but it seemed to steal a piece of her own lifeforce each time she used it, like the product of some unholy pact. The sage noted this, but kept quiet for the moment, as the champion quickly returned to its feet.

The knight returned to the fray alongside the swordswoman, each dodging the wild swings of the sentinel's glaive, and lunging in for their own counterattacks. The long spear pierced the champion's side, then the katana sliced down its thigh, and then the spear returned again for a jab at its helmet, to which the katana responded with a flurried slash at its arm. Their combined assault forced the champion to its knees once more, at which point the party backed away. At this moment, they all noticed, in unison, the peculiar black ooze on the sentinel's back – ooze which now suddenly erupted into a massive, amorphous creature that latched onto the champion like a parasite, beckoning it to its feet once more. The colossal creature had a single, gnarled arm that it used to knock the knight and swordswoman back, sending them across the shallow waters. The champion charged the old sage, who conjured a heavy soul arrow at it – the arrow clearly damaged the beast, but it was too little, too late. The priest gasped as she saw the champion pin down the sage, raising its halberd to pierce through the elderly man. She quietly recited another prayer, this one much shorter than the previous, and stood, summoning a ring of light that she cast to the sentinel. A white ray of force knocked it from atop the sage, who crawled backwards to safety.

The champion regained its balance, clearly rearing back for another charge, when it suddenly collapsed to the ground in flames. The black ooze on its back retreated into its previous, benign form, and the champion vanished in a flash of light. Behind it, the swordswoman stood, hand extended – a hand that harbored a flame of pyromancy. She had dispatched the foe.

No sooner than they had defeated this colossus, the ground rumbled. The party braced itself for another assault, when they saw the gate ahead of them tremble and kick dust from its creases and corners. The priest retrieved the coiled sword from the ground as the party moved forward. They approached the gate, and the knight stepped forward, using his might to push the great doors open. Just beyond them, up a small mountain path, was a great bell tower. The sage chuckled to himself.

"Ah, indeed… Firelink Shrine.


	2. II: Firelink Shrine

**II. Firelink Shrine**

The faint hum of a bonfire resounded in the large chamber, only intruded upon by the occasional crackle of flame or movement of clothing. This had become a more familiar scene to the party, which had reached Firelink Shrine, though the bell that had awoken them was out of their reach – locked behind an iron gate, in fact.

Upon their entry, they were met with a crestfallen man named Hawkwood, who paid them no mind at first, until the knight had deigned to speak with him – he would quickly abandon this prospect, as the man waxed philosophical about the pointlessness of their journey. Perhaps the proud knight found this man's credo antithetical to his own, for he soon left him to his dry ruminations.

Next to greet them was a silver-haired woman, dressed in official attire, part of which included a crown-like circlet that covered her eyes as well. _A blind woman_ , the sage had intuited, _one of the storied Firekeepers_. The old man had explained the legend of the linking of the flame, and the firekeepers' duty to oversee the event, though most of it was but a fable to him; a dusty tome from the Grand Archives. The woman accepted this as the truth of her duty, but explained that this cycle was different from previous ones – there was no hero to link the flame this time. It seemed the flame would soon extinguish, plunging the world into eternal darkness. It would be the duty of the Unkindled to seek the Lords of Cinder and convince them to return and link the flame once more.

The party found it all heavy-handed and mythological, but apropos compared to sitting in the vast and empty shrine, waiting for the world to end – at least they now knew who they were. Not quite undead, but _Unkindled_. No one was certain if they felt better about the whole situation, for indeed they had a purpose in escaping the Cemetery of Ash, though the purpose seemed bleak and ambiguous. The knight and priest departed a moment to introduce themselves to the blacksmith, Andre, who resided below the entrance of the shrine, while the swordswoman used the coiled sword she inherited to light the shrine's bonfire. She sat, joined by the old sage, who groaned as he lowered himself to the ground.

"So, young lady – how is it that you know of these bonfires?"

The swordswoman's face had been painted uneasy since the party's inception, and she shrugged in response. The old man continued to look to her, clearly expecting an answer, and even went as far as to lift his hat to better read the woman's face. She finally relented.

"I'm not sure. I just knew."

The sage cackled a moment, resting his head upon his hands, "Come now, child. You expect me to believe you intuited that? You are awfully bright for someone your age, then, I must say." His sentence ended with a dry laugh, a notion to which the swordswoman responded with equal dryness, "I know that I am much older than you, sorcerer." This piqued the elder's interest, so quickly sat upright, at full attention, "Ah, indeed? Tell me more!"

"I do not know how, or why, but I believe that I am not from this era." She spoke, hesitant. "Lothric, the Grand Archives, the crest on that knight's shield – it is all unfamiliar to me."

To this, the old man breathed deeply, analyzing each word as if it were the inscription of a golden sorcery. "How fascinating!" He exhaled, grinning, "The Lady of Time, so it would seem. Then, I must redact my previous statement – that is, you look quite lovely for a woman of your advanced age! Hah hah!" He continued laughing, and it seemed that the swordswoman herself may have smiled, though that could have been the light of the bonfire playing tricks, and she had turned her face away for a moment.

The knight and priest returned to the bonfire, the latter of whom took a seat beside the swordswoman. The man took his helmet off, setting it on the ground below him, but remained standing.

"It has occurred to me that we do not even know each other's names. Unacceptable, in my eyes, seeing that we all owe one another a great deal in our recent escape." The knight spoke, sitting by the bonfire in the meantime. As he settled himself down, between the priest and the sage, he spoke once more.

"Well then. I am **Rodric** of Astora, a Lion Knight, formerly under the tutelage of Lion Knight Albert of Forossa, serving the… army of the Lothric Kingdom. My own death aside, that still seems like a lifetime ago."

The party nodded to him, and the sage was next to respond, "A pleasure, young Rodric. I am called **Ephaim** , royal scholar of the Grand Archives, and, might I add with some level of satisfaction, one of Prince Lothric's tutors!" The priest smiled at the old man's innocent boasting, and spoke up herself, "I am **Sister Ophelia** , lady to…" her voice trailed off. "Forgive me," she urged quietly, "I forget myself sometimes. I was once Lady Ophelia, you see, a maiden of Carim. My knight was slain some time ago… it seems I missed my calling." Rodric's head sank a moment, looking to the ground, before he nodded to her. The three now looked to the swordswoman to learn her name.

She hesitated, "I… have no name."

The silence that followed was rather deafening, before it was broken by the old sage Ephaim, as was becoming commonplace. "You have no name?" He inquired, to which the woman responded with a nod. Ephaim snorted, and turned to his comrades, "Does not that sound like a challenge? Hmm hmm!" He struggled to his feet, and Rodric started a moment, concerned the old man would not make it. Alas, he did, and with his murky longstaff in hand, paced about the ashen grounds of Firelink Shrine.

Rodric, Ophelia, and the swordswoman watched as the old man shuffled around the bonfire. Even the firekeeper nearby had to stifle a giggle at the sight of this strange man. Ephaim stopped after a few moments, looking back to the party.

"I must confess, all this striding about and I'm no further to my goal than when I started."

Upon speaking those words, the sage cocked his head. He had come to a realization. "Striding about," he mused, stroking his beard, "indeed! Dear lady, might I suggest the name of 'Strider?' I think that suits you quite well, th-that is, in the interim. I'm sure you'll learn your name soon enough." The swordswoman looked rather baffled, when Rodric himself interjected, "' **Landstrider**.' I think it sounds a little better." He gave a warm smile to the woman, who looked away for a moment, then nodded.

"Very well." She uttered in shy acceptance.

Ephaim stretched from where he stood, eliciting quite a nasty pop from his spine, which made him catch his breath a moment. "My companions – Rodric, Ophelia, Landstrider. In lieu of rotting away in this shrine, I propose we heed the advice of this firekeeper and travel to the High Wall of Lothric. We must, as she says, bring back the Lords of Cinder, so that we may continue the Age of Fire! Righty-ho, then! Let's be off."

With that, the other three rose to their feet. The party approached the shrine's bonfire, extended their hands in unison, and were whisked away in a swirl of dazzling light.

And then, all was silent in Firelink Shrine – for a moment. The firekeeper turned her head to the sound of grizzly chuckling. It was Hawkwood. "Heh heh ho…" he began, shaking his head and laughing, though it held an air of solemnity, "the poor souls. They don't understand how futile it all is." The firekeeper looked away, having herself remembered this man's fall from grace. This broken man, once a proud hero of the Undead Legion, doing little now but dissuading future heroes. She replied simply, "Perhaps."

But she knew better.


	3. III: High Wall of Lothric

**III. High Wall of Lothric**

There was a certain serenity in the destruction of Lothric's ramparts – as if Chaos itself had swept through the city, then vanished like a whisper, leaving nothing but quiet devastation. Rubble and ashes decorated every corner and crenellation, and the old corpses of Hollows had erupted into masses of branches, to which other mindless Hollows were praying. The sky was a dull yellow, yet it painted the walled kingdom in a royal gold, muted only by the smoldering flames and fog down below.

This is what greeted the party as they materialized in front of the bonfire. "By the gods," Rodric spoke, awestruck, "what has happened to this place?" He solemnly stepped forward, momentarily using his spear as a walking stick. "I suppose, then, that the civil war has ended." He uttered to himself. Ophelia approached him, inquiring if he was alright. The proud knight nodded, and donned his helm. "Where to, old man?" He asked of Ephaim, who approached as well.

"Yes, yes. To my understanding, the Lords of Cinder were to meet in the chapel beyond the front gates. Dignitaries of the Boreal Valley were originally chartered to welcome visitors, but… ah, I am certain they are here no longer."

Rodric nodded again, to the sage, and spoke once more, "Very good. I know the way from here. There is a lift that proceeds to the courtyard, though it was always kept under lock and key. We may have to take an alternate route."

The party set off, proceeding along the High Wall, passing through guard towers and structures, of course hounded by Hollows all the while. The first structure they entered was decorated with the massive corpse of a dragon, which lay splayed across its rooftop. Upon entering, the group was set upon by more undead, who managed to flank them from front and back. From the shadows, a Hollow emerged, carrying a lantern and shambling about with it. As soon as the vile creature came close enough, it reared its head back and unleashed an ear-piercing scream, one that seemed to awaken nearby corpses, who stood to join the undead mob. Soon, the party was surrounded.

Ephaim stepped forward, pushing his way to the front of the group and casting Aural Decoy. A strange sound emanated from the rear of the room, like some sort of wounded animal, drawing the attention of the undead, who flocked to it. The old sage smirked as the creatures passed him by, and retorted by conjuring Farron Hail, showering the foes in a cascade of soul darts. He turned back to the party, "Come on then, Rodric. At this rate, I daresay we'll save the world in no time!" The knight shook his head in disbelief, and once again took lead.

Passing through more structures led them down to a barracks, horribly beaten by what appeared to be catapult fire. Rodric entered first, shield raised and spear at the ready. Across the room, a large figure passed through the opposite doorway – a Lothric Knight, tower shield and lance in hand. _Then… we lost the war_ , Rodric thought to himself as he inspected this lumbering knight. He attempted to vocalize this to his comrades, but was cut short when the Lothric Knight charged him.

Dodging the first lunge, Rodric spun, using the momentum to draw his spear across the knight's back – of course, merely scratching the armor. The lumbering beast responded by bashing him with his tower shield, which temporarily broke his guard. The next thing Rodric noticed was the knight's lance forcing its way through his torso; he even felt it pierce all the way through his spine. In fact, it was the last thing he remembered, as he died before the large knight could reclaim its spear from his corpse. Ophelia shrieked, stumbling backwards onto the ground, while Landstrider and Ephaim tried to contain the situation. The old sage conjured some weak soul darts, which promptly bounced off the knight's greatshield, all the while unsheathing his aquamarine dagger and preparing for a swift stab. This hope was shattered when the knight incidentally sliced his throat while swiping at the swordswoman, sending the elder to the ground, dead.

The sight of this stunned Landstrider, who looked back swiftly enough to catch a second swipe at her, deflecting it with her sword. Shifting the blade to her other hand, she braced forward for a vertical slash, though it only connected with the Lothric Knight's tower shield. A spear through the torso ended up being her fate, as well. All faded to darkness as the knight approached the helpless maiden…

* * *

… Until they woke up. Or rather, that moment ended, and the moment of standing atop the High Wall of Lothric began again.

"W-What…? What manner of sorcery?" Rodric stuttered, baffled by his ongoing confusion to this world. Ophelia was covering her eyes, dealing with her own trauma, while Landstrider investigated the lack of a wound on her stomach. Ephaim shook his head, clearing his mind, and offered some insight:

"Unkindled, may I remind you all. We cannot die. That isn't to say this journey will not be painful."

Rodric turned to him, concern written upon his face, "Ephaim, are we to live this over and over?" The sage began to nod, but quickly corrected himself, "Young knight, I do not mean that we have returned back in time – merely died and resurrected. As Unkindled we are metaphysically bound to these bonfires. It seems my hypothesis was mostly correct; how intriguing!" He firmly clutched his longstaff and set off along the ramparts once again. Rodric watched, bewildered, as the old man bravely marched to his death once again. He turned to console Ophelia, who appeared to be feeling much better. The party could not die, which came with it both a sense of relief and of existential foreboding.

A moment passed, Rodric helped the priestess to her feet, and Landstrider rejoined them to set off once more. Suddenly, Ephaim materialized in front of the bonfire, looking quite offended.

"How rude! I thought you followed me down there! I took a blade to the chest!"

The old man was furiously patting around his body, clearly looking for some sort of wound – it seemed that this time, the trauma was his. He was helped to his feet, and the party proceeded through the High Wall of Lothric yet again.

The Hollow ambush was thwarted this time, when Landstrider cast a fireball at the lantern-carrier, leaving the other slumbering Undead where they were. As they reached a branching path, Rodric had the party ascend a staircase to the upper level of the ramparts, which was unexpectedly set upon by a colossal wyvern. They managed to enter a guard tower before being set ablaze, to which Rodric cried, "Heavens above! Next time, we'll stay on the lower rampart like before!"

Upon returning to the chamber with the Lothric Knight, Landstrider bounded to a nearby room, hiding in the doorway, blade poised to strike. Ophelia offered a prayer of Sacred Oath, strengthening Rodric's resolve. Ephaim sheathed his dagger and prepared to channel a Soul Spear from his staff. As the spear-wielding Knight entered, Rodric raised his shield, attempting a different stance, perhaps in the hopes of countering incoming thrusts. The Knight lurched, indeed thrusting its spear forward – an attack which Rodric dodged, bashing aside its tower shield and piercing the Knight with his spear. The hulking soldier stumbled back, bracing its greatshield once more, when Ephaim's soul spear careened through it, breaking its guard. This time, Landstrider leapt from the shadows, unleashing her powerful vertical slash, which almost killed the Knight outright, splitting apart its weakened plate armor. The beast swiped its spear at her, which she narrowly dodged, preparing to charge it for another strike. It was unnecessary, however, as Ophelia moved past Rodric, conjuring a Way of White Corona and sending it soaring at the Knight. The lumbering creature was sent back against the wall, collapsing to the ground, dead for certain.

As the party continued down to the lower level of the structure, they were ambushed by Hollows once more – this time wielding firebombs and greataxes. Learning from their last few encounters, Rodric had his companions divide and conquer. Ophelia and Ephaim's ranged magicks put an end to the bombers above, while Rodric and Landstrider's combat skills proved rather effective when combined, commonly with the former absorbing strikes with his mighty shield, while the latter slashed and riposted with her blade.

Upon exiting the structure, the party had entered the courtyard – littered with the corpses of Winged Knights and Lothric Knights, with swords and spears embedded in the cobblestone, and the flames of burning mass graves polluted the air.

"Rodric, what happened here?" Ophelia asked of the knight.

"There was a civil war. Knights of the angelic faith, such as these," Rodric explained, pointing at the bulbous corpse of a Winged Knight, "were set upon by the Lothric Knights, after they were branded heretics. It was a senseless massacre, but even I had no idea it had reached this point." Ephaim inquired where he was during these events, to which Rodric responded that he was relatively far removed, operating in the Lothric Castle. The sage seemed to accept that answer, and the party carried on.

Entering the great chapel at the top of the courtyard's staircase, they were met with a vast, empty hall. At the end sat an old handmaiden in a wooden chair.

"Ahh, the wait has been long, Unkindled ones. I am Emma, High Priestess of Lothric." The old woman spoke. "Allow me to speak frankly. You will not find the Lords of Cinder here. They have returned to their homes, converging at the base of this kingdom." Rodric approached her, and she responded by passing him a small banner, decorated with the sigil of Lothric.

"Raise this banner at the edge of the High Wall, beyond the great gate." She exposited. "But beware the vile watchdog of the Boreal Valley."


	4. IV: Vordt of the Frigid Valley

**IV. Vordt of the Frigid Valley**

Returning to the long-stretching courtyard of Lower Lothric, the party ruminated on their findings. Indeed, the only way forward was through the tangled mass of converged lands, all of which lie beyond the front gates of the kingdom. Rodric led the way forward, shield at his back and spear at the ready. The Lothric Knights patrolling the way put up a fair fight – the other mindless Hollows, conversely, did not. A wealth of corpses trailed behind the quartet as they approached the grand wall of fog at the base of the courtyard.

"Ready, all?" Rodric asked, turning to Ophelia first, then to his other companions. They all nodded, and the priestess offered a whispered prayer of sacred oath. A faint glow encircled each of the Unkindled, and they breached the fog in were in a great hall, some form of entryway within the High Wall – perhaps most curiously, though, was that the room was empty. Ephaim, as expected, was the first to remark on this.

"I don't suppose this 'vile watchdog' was meant to be in… another room, perhaps? Have we erred?"

While the sage prattled on, Rodric slowly eased forward, intently focusing on his surroundings. _We are in the right place_ , he thought, _of that I am certain_. Suddenly, a vanishingly low hum emanated from seemingly everywhere at once. The sage, priestess, and swordswoman all intuitively congregated around the proud knight, and the group turned to face the fog wall they had entered. A pitch-black vortex had spun into existence there, dripping black ooze onto the stone floor. Looking into the void, Landstrider found the faintest sensation of comfort, but in her moment of weakness, also detected an underlying anxiety within herself. Realizing this, she strengthened the grip on her blade.

From the vortex appeared a pair of piercing blue eyes, shimmering like prism stones. As a large shape emerged from the void, the party made out the visage of a knight, but one that defied all logic. It was colossal, crawling on all fours like some beast, dragging behind it a great mace. The floor beneath the creature immediately frosted over, and a visible aura of iciness emanated from its armor and weapon. As the monstrosity fully climbed from the black portal, it faded into obscurity, leaving only its frigid spawn behind.

Perhaps standing on ceremony, the party was initially startled as the hulk leapt forward, slamming its mace on the ground as they dove to safety. The armored creature recklessly flailed its mace about, a tactic that thoroughly confused the classically-trained likes of Rodric. Ephaim and Ophelia hung back, casting their respective spells at the beast, which seemed to suffice well enough. Landstrider, alternatively, found the chaotic flailing rather complemented her swordplay. She sprinted at the beast, as it turned to gore her like a bull. It reared itself back, then lunged forward, and the swordswoman countered by sliding along the icy stones beneath the creature, drawing her accursed blade along the armor gaps on the vile watchdog's thigh.

The frigid knight-beast fell to one knee, or rather, further onto its knee than it was before. Rodric took this opportunity to strike, thrusting his spear into the gaps around the knight-beast's neck, eliciting a piercing, metallic roar from the creature. Ophelia recited a psalm of a tranquil walk of peace, and beneath the monstrous knight formed a shimmering glyph of radiant magic. The glyph seemed to hold the watchdog in place, and with that, an immediate consensus was reached within the party. Rodric primed his spear, Ephaim drew his aquamarine dagger, and Landstrider poised her blade – and then the trio struck all at once.

The beast collapsed to the ground, and from its body emanated a blinding glow, howling like a great and powerful windstorm, shaking the floor as the massive corpse faded away into nothingness. The great hall was silent.

Rodric looked expectantly at Ephaim, likely anticipating some witty comment. Instead, he received an absentminded, similarly bewildered look. It would seem that the loquacious sage was at a loss for words, for once. Paradoxically enough, it was the stoic swordswoman who broke the silence.

"Look."

Her companions followed her gaze to the large gate at the end of the room, as dust and dirt seemed to cascade from the doors as they slowly swung open. Beyond the gates was an expanse of blinding light, difficult to discern from within the dark entryway.

The ashen ones proceeded forward.

What was once, presumably, a long bridge extending from Lothric proper was now nothing but thin air. Rather, the very entrance to the castle was collapsed and crumbled, and beyond the isolated kingdom lie a mass of tangled lands, overlapping upon each other. Equally an awe-inspiring and dread-inducing sight to behold, but one that produced a problem of its own – there was no way for the party of Unkindled to cross the skies to even the closest location, much less the spiraling cathedrals and towers and forests beyond them.

The proud knight removed his helmet, connecting it to his belt, as if to free his mind to think more clearly. "Of course…" he began, reaching to his back, "the Lothric Banner." He went about unfurling the thing, while Ephaim ruminated aloud, "We were so preoccupied with recent events, we forgot the events right before them! Hmm-hmm!" Ophelia approached the sage, clutching her talisman with both hands, posing a question: "How will raising a banner get us across the gap?" The old man adjusted the brim of his large hat, to better see the young maiden, offering only a grin as his answer. "My lady, this whole day has been one of surprises."

No sooner than he has spoken, a horrific screech pierced the air, bringing the ashen ones to immediate attention. Rodric, still presenting the Lothric banner to the outside world, dropped it to draw his spear. From beneath the crumbled walkways, four pale demons appeared, soaring above the party with their flesh-colored wings. They were lithe and faceless, setting upon the companions, and dodging fireballs and soul arrows as they approached.

Ophelia flung divine coronas at the bat-demons, who nimbly wove around the projectiles, quickly sweeping her from the ground, and disappearing off the edge of the walkway, seemingly into the fog below. Rodric yelled in protest, swinging his spear at his assailants, but was similarly grappled and pulled away. Sage Ephaim was next, seemingly abandoning his resistance to the demon that now dragged him off the broken ledge. The last remaining Unkindled was Landstrider, who now had to contend with another two bat-demons crawling onto the walkway. The creatures corralled her, and in a moment of desperation, she turned the blade on herself, preparing to plunge it through her chest. A demon grabbed her hand, and another demon her legs, and between the three creatures managed to drag her from the ledge, into the open air.

The swordswoman struggled as the demons soared beyond the aging castle to the converged lands, towing her all the while.

Meanwhile, the other companions had met with the same fate, as the demons had delivered them to a ramshackle commune beyond the old, collapsed bridge into Lothric, gingerly placing them down along a guard post not far from the gates into the village. Rodric helped Ophelia to her feet, and the two made sure Ephaim was alright, as well. The trio turned back toward the way they had come, and saw Landstrider battling against the three bat-demons that flew her along. Perhaps not yet realizing the journey was a safe one, she managed to regain control of her sword-arm, slicing across the chest of one of the bat-demons, sending it careening into the crumbled bridge.

"Heavens above, she is going to get herself killed!" Rodric cried, scanning about the bridge as if some solution would present itself.

A solution came, but not one the trio expected – as Landstrider slashed another demon that held her, this time sending her and her hellish captors free-falling down to the bridge. Rodric, Ephaim, and Ophelia set off, sprinting down from the guard post to the bridge, slaying any Hollows in the way.

Landstrider hit the ground hard, tumbling across the cobblestone bridgework before catching her footing. She armed her blade, but found that the bat-demons were gone, likely flown to safety. The stoic swordswoman checked her surroundings, noticing the peculiar sight – the bridge was collapsed at this end, and at the edge of the battered pathway was a swarm of dead stone-humped figures. She sheathed her blade, and approached the curious things. As she passed through this macabre congregation, she noted that these were pilgrims, like those that Sage Ephaim had spoken of when the party had first awoken. These pilgrims all lie prostrated on the ground, seemingly petrified into the pose. At one point, Landstrider swore she heard sobbing, as she looked upon the tragic sight.

After a few seconds passed, and Landstrider seemed to clear her senses, she realized that she was undoubtedly hearing sobbing.

 _"_ _Ohh… please, grant me death… undo my shackles."_

She looked amongst the dead crowd, and found a single pilgrim alive, wallowing in despair, hands clutched and held to the heavens. She approached the sad figure, who choked for a moment, before turning to face her. He seemed bewildered, even with his face hidden in his cloak.

 _"_ _Oh, then it's true? A Champion of Ash, as I live and breathe! To be in your presence is a great honor."_ He croaked joyfully; he remained on his knees, but turned fully to face the swordswoman. _"I am Yoel of Londor, a pilgrim as you can see, only…"_ he extended a hand toward his lifeless brethren along the bridge's edge, _"I have, somehow, failed to die as ordained."_

Landstrider was initially suspicious, but felt a strange connection to this pitiable creature, watching him as he slowly rose to his feet, clutching his oak staff, affixed at the top with an old lantern. _"Perhaps my calling lies elsewhere… Champion of Ash, how does the idea of taking me into your service strike you? I was once a scholar of many magicks – surely I can be of use to you."_ The swordswoman nodded, prompting a moan of relief from Yoel. _"Ohh, I am honored, truly. You have granted me purpose – I, Yoel of Londor, do solemnly swear myself to you."_ And with that, the curious pilgrim whisked away in a cloud of mist, and Landstrider was left alone once again on the bridge.

"My lady! My lady! _Landstrider_!"

The swordswoman turned to the source of the yelling, and saw her companions rushing to her aide. Rodric approached her, resting a hand on her arm, "Are you alright? You took quite a tumble back there." She nodded yes, and looked to Ophelia, who seemed to have just glanced away from Rodric's hand. "Landstrider, we weren't sure if we should shout to you." The gentle priestess spoke, and Ephaim elaborated, "Y-You see, my dear, those vile bat-creatures must be some perversion of the Lothric messenger. That is, I-I believe they meant us no harm." He walked forward, standing beside the knight, "Although, I admit, I had a spot of fun watching you cut those demons out of the sky! Splendid show, I say!" The swordswoman looked away, perhaps hiding another smile – hard to say, with the way her hood shrouded her face.

Rodric donned his helm once more, and looking upon the prostrated pilgrims, spoke, "Well, then. If everything's alright, I suggest we keep moving. Perhaps if we link the First Flame, we can save the world from this… sorry state that it's in." He turned to Ophelia, who nodded tentatively to him. And with that, the party set off along the crumbled bridge into the Undead Settlement.


	5. V: Undead Settlement

**V. Undead Settlement**

The large, wooden gate to the dilapidated village creaked as it rose. It seemed a Hollow villager from within had cranked the gate open – the way was open. "That certainly makes things simpler," Rodric remarked, arming his spear and speeding to a jog. From the maw of the open gate sprung a pack of hollowed dogs, tearing at the flesh of the mindless undead along the bridge.

"It seems I spoke too soon." The knight conceded.

Steel and flesh clashed as the ashen ones cut through the undead, passing beyond the threshold of the commune. The villager who opened the gate fled as the party entered, though it could scarcely outrun Rodric's soaring spear, which quickly found itself lodged between the Hollow's ribs, sending it to the ground. The knight retrieved his spear from the corpse, and Ophelia proceeded to light the nearby bonfire, which sat in the remains of a broken-down shack, teetering on the edge of the cliff.

The four sat down around the gentle flames. Their wounds, physical and mental, seemed to melt away under the warmth. Rodric removed his helmet, setting it beside him, and looked to his companions. "It's strange," Ophelia spoke, breaking the monotonous hum of the bonfire, "I am not hungry, nor thirsty… nor weary." She fidgeted nervously with her talisman, looking at the floor beneath her, "But I daresay it took me dying to truly appreciate those feelings." This prompted a hum of approval from the old sage, and a question from the proud knight.

"Ophelia," he spoke, drawing her gaze, "How is it that you ended up dying? The… first time, I mean." The gentle priestess eyed the others sheepishly, as their attention was now fixed upon her.

"I'll admit I'm not entirely certain. I have no recollection of it, not really… I remember the color red. That is all."

The knight sighed, nodding not of approval, but perhaps of understanding. Ephaim turned to him, presumably, given the obscuring size of his hat, and remarked, "I've thought to ask the same of you, Lion Knight. How did you die, hmm?" Rodric answered plainly, "I fell in battle."

"The civil war?"

"Indeed."

"And, er… what side of that conflict did you fall on?"

"The side of Gertrude. I hope that causes no problems."

"On the contrary, I always found the angelic faith rather fresh, compared the stale doctrines that other kingdoms practice."

Ophelia and Landstrider both glanced back and forth between the two men as they spoke, both seemingly lost in the strange politics of the Lothric Kingdom. Ephaim noticed this trepidation, and rose to his feet.

"My dear ladies, the Lothric Kingdom was built upon the faith of linking the First Flame." He explained, pacing about, though he paused for a moment to clarify – "Er, somewhat. I say 'faith' not because it was some religious authority, but was still zealously upheld as a sort of… moral imperative, one could say." Rodric's eyes seemed to glaze over at the old man's pontification, which continued on:

"Lothric's Queen had a heavenly daughter, who was visited upon by an angel. She lost her voice, her sight… yet inscribed the teachings she received, and from them established the Angelic Faith of Lothric. But, you see, this did not sit well with the scholars of the Grand Archives, oh no. Young Lothric had abandoned the linking of the flame, the very tenant upon which his kingdom was founded on – and now they had to contend with this angel nonsense? Well, that wouldn't do at all. I suspect my colleagues orchestrated the civil war… though I have no way to prove it. Paradoxical, then, that our knight here still intends to link the flame."

Finally, Rodric spoke up, "Ephaim, how is it you know so much about Prince Lothric's motives, hmm? You were his tutor, not his political advisor. I don't suppose it was _you_ that suggested he turn his back on the First Flame?" The sage stopped a moment, turning only his head to face the knight, "Not I, no. There was another, the first scholar, the founder of the Grand Archives. He… came from somewhere far away, and brought far-away ideas with him. He was not a good man, to be sure… but his intellect was unrivaled." Ephaim looked up to the sky, and his companions briefly saw the pain on the old man's face.

"We agreed on one thing – the linking of the flame merely prolongs our agony. He planted that seed in the prince's mind, then departed for his homeland. When I voiced such opinions to the other scholars, I was branded a heretic, a blasphemer. And for that, I was killed."

Silence hung in the air after that.

"Forgive me, sage. I did not mean to reopen old wounds. We can… discuss the ethics of our beliefs another time." Rodric affirmed quietly, donning his helm and rising to his feet. Ephaim paused a moment, then hastily nodded in agreement. Ophelia stood, and offered her hand to Landstrider, who took it after a slight hesitation.

* * *

The Undead Settlement had an air of tension far more palpable than Rodric and Ephaim's conversation on the village outskirts. Ornately dressed evangelists roamed the hallowed grounds, preaching to the undead masses, though the sermons sounded more like lifeless wails and groans. Corpses wrapped in canvas hung from wilted trees, and mass cremations filled the air with a sickening odor of ancient, charred flesh. Collapsed and splintered wooden buildings tangled and wrapped around each other, creating a maze-like network of rot and suffering. This place was truly forsaken.

After a brief tenure exploring the decaying commune, the party emerged into a narrow alleyway. Dilapidated buildings hung over the moss-covered streets, but at the far end of the corridor was a suspended walkway, upon which a sinister evangelist stood, chanting. The chanting soon turned to cackling, as the figure flipped open her grimoire and cast a spell from it. As she did so, multiple doors lining the alley were kicked open, and undead flooded into the claustrophobic street. The party braced themselves as Hollows swarmed them, many throwing themselves upon Rodric's spear, which quickly became weighed down with corpses.

"This is madness! Find us a way out!" The knight yelled to his companions.

Landstrider's eyes darted about, examining the surroundings. A door behind her had flung open, with an axe-wielding thrall crawling out, likely intending to ambush her. Fortunately, a swift thrust of her blade ended that plan. "Here!" She blurted, pulling on Ophelia's shoulder and beckoning her companions backward. Rodric, with great effort, dislodged his mighty lance from the mob of undead, and followed the others. As he sped down the alley, a swirling mass of magic hurtled past him – likely the spell cast by the evangelist.

"Ophelia, behind you!" He exclaimed, drawing the startled look of the priestess, who turned back just in time to be struck by the strange mass. An explosion of blood launched her forward, tumbling into the sage and swordswoman ahead of her, and bringing them all to the ground. The proud knight rushed to their aide, helping them to their feet, before procuring his shield to hold the encroaching mob at bay. With both hands, he held his shield in place, as rotted hands clasped and pried around it. The sheer strength of the swarm slowly pushed him back – through the struggle, Rodric peered back, and saw his companions dive into a nearby building. He pulled his shield back, and followed suit, sprinting the remaining distance toward the entrance of the alley, and jumping through the opened door.

Landstrider slammed the door shut as he entered, unsheathing her blade, and slicing a wooden beam beside her. The beam buckled and snapped, causing the front side of the house they occupied to collapse forward, crushing the swarm of hollowed pursuers. The party had jumped back to avoid being trapped under the rubble, though the swordswoman was not yet finished, extending her arm, and unleashing a stream of fire from her palm, setting alight the great pile of corpses and debris.

"I say, your ruthless efficiency always surprises me." Ephaim marveled.

The ashen ones proceeded up the stairs of the partially-sunken building, finding it connected to other structures along the alleyway. They proceeded through the patchwork of wood and stone, quickly reaching the walkway claimed by the evangelist, of whom they made quick work.

With their undead assailants dispatched, the Unkindled were offered a moment of respite, proceeding down to a grassy cliffside. Beyond it was a collapsed archway, and beyond even that, a large chapel. The way there, however, was littered with greatarrows, protruding from the ground like stalks of wild grass. Many of these arrows seemed to spiral around a peculiar tree, which glowed a pure white. Ophelia stood, hands clutched, whispering, "The white birch tree… the fairy tales were true. We must tread carefully."

She proceeded forward, beyond the archway and along the battered cliffside, as the party stood and caught up with her. A faint whistling through the air caught Rodric's attention, and he held his arm out, keeping the sage and swordswoman behind him. The proud knight searched for the source of the sound, and quickly found it – a greatarrow soared through the air, careening toward the gentle priestess, who calmly walked through the no-man's land. The arrow flew past her, pinning a nearby Hollow to a rock. Rodric looked beyond the chapel, spotting a great, leaning tower, upon which stood a bow-wielding giant. The distant creature loosed another greatarrow, again sailing past the priestess and killing another undead villager that approached her.

"I think we should follow her example." The knight suggested, stepping forward carefully.

No sooner than he had set foot in the grounds, a haunting sound resonated through the air, and it was not another flying arrow. It resembled a low-ringing chime, reverberating at a chord that sent shivers along the knight's arm. Landstrider's eyes widened – she knew this sound.

Ophelia continued forward slowly, hands clapsed around her talisman in prayer, as greatarrows soared past her. She was near the foot of the crumbling chapel, and as she approached, she lifted her gaze to the collapsed entrance, and gasped in horror.

Rodric paused for a moment as a shrouded figure emerged from the chapel. The phantomic man glowed a sinister violet as he brandished a great flamberge, fearlessly approaching the young maiden. The ashen ones had been invaded.

The proud knight sprung forward, racing across the tangled knoll, when greatarrows began soaring past him. He glanced aside for a moment, seeing a projectile lodge into the tree just past him – this was not an intentional shot, the giant on the tower had merely missed. Landstrider and Ephaim both sprinted after their companions, dodging the undead who had begun to awaken nearby, as well as the powerful arrows cascading like rainfall around them.

The violet-hued interloper had reached Ophelia, swinging his hefty sword with wild abandon. She fell back, narrowly avoiding the blade swipes, and countering one with a divine ward, which shattered on impact as the invader's sword struck it. The priestess was repelled to the ground, and the strange man stood above her, preparing to drive his sword down, when he hesitated.

Rodric darted through the no-man's land, approaching ever closer to the young maiden, when he caught the shape of an approaching arrow from the corner of his eye. He dropped for a moment, hands splayed out to maintain his momentum as he ran on, when the arrow sailed past, striking the ground beside him. It produced a violent shockwave, throwing Rodric aside and nearly dashing him against the nearby rocks. As he struggled to lift himself from the ground, Landstrider and Ephaim sprinted past, encroaching upon the priestess and her attacker. The swordswoman was next to detect an incoming arrow, and quickly shove the old sage forward to safety. The projectile sliced along her back, sending her stumbling to the dirt, when it finished its trajectory and crashed beside her, the powerful shockwave throwing her straight off the cliffside, into the abyss below.

The invader unceremoniously grabbed Ophelia's arm, pulling her to her feet, and clutching her to his side as she struggled. He sheathed his undulating sword on his back, and produced a shimmering, black crystal. As he channeled its power, he began to fade into obscurity, the gentle priestess along with him. Prisoner in hand, he vanished as Ephaim dove through their apparition.

Rodric stumbled as he caught up with the sage, who was just lifting himself up from the dirt. The old man coughed and slammed his fist against the ground. "We lost the both of them!" He sputtered with a mix of despair and anger.

The proud knight offered him a hand, which Ephaim accepted, standing alongside his companion. "Landstrider is likely at the bonfire – I trust she can find her way back to us. As for Ophelia, her fate isn't known, and that greatly concerns me."

"You want to go after her?" The sage inquired, still panting.

"I think it's our best course of action, while we still have time."

"It's your call, Lion Knight."

"Indeed – perhaps we can find answers in that giant's tower."

"Let's not waste any time, then, friend."


	6. VI: Pit of Hollows

**VI. Pit of Hollows**

The stoic swordswoman tumbled through the darkness, but did not fear it. She had already crossed beyond the precipice, and it was a long way to the bottom of this particular chasm. It gave her ample time to reflect on her existence, ample in the fact that she would return to a bonfire in due time, sent once more into the fray – whatever she did in the interim of death and undeath was time not wasted.

 _"_ _Grant me death… undo my shackles…"_

Her thoughts were drawn to the strange pilgrim, _Yoel_ , as she recalled, pleading for death. What fantastical irony that the very thing he sought was a cyclical burden for Landstrider and her companions. _Londor_ , she thought to herself as she tumbled into the shrouded darkness, _I have never heard of such a place_. The name, however, had a peculiar staying power with her – as if its very pronunciation was etched upon her soul. _Londor…_ she thought once more.

She awoke at the bonfire – it appeared that she had finally been dashed along the rocks at the bottom of the Undead Settlement. Her companions were nowhere in sight – companions, of course, only in as far as the undead curse would allow. It seemed the knight and sage had rushed off to help the gentle priestess.

It was not envy, but resignation that clouded Landstrider's thoughts, and if these fellow ashen ones deigned to chase after some maiden, then that was their prerogative. As for the swordswoman, she had a rendezvous with destiny. Procuring a homeward bone from her pocket, she channeled its power, and as it crumbled into ash, she faded into nothingness.

* * *

"You are awake."

Ophelia opened her eyes, staring up at a cavernous ceiling, tangled in rotting tree roots. She sat upright, searching for the source of the croaking voice. It was the invader, the one who had kidnapped her – though he lacked the purple, alien glow that had characterized him earlier.

"My granddaughter, you remember your promise to me, do you not?" He uttered.

Ophelia's brow furrowed – she had no recollection of this man. She was most certainly not related to him.

"F-Forgive me, sir… you must have me mistaken for someone else."

"Nonsense! You wear the armor of the Sunless Realms, which means you were victorious in your duty. At least, victorious up to this point – you still have a promise to uphold."

The priestess rose to her feet, searching for her talisman. "Sir," she spoke, timidly at first and then with increasing sternness, "I am not who you think I am – I don't know who you are, I don't know what you want from me, and I am not your granddaughter!"

The strange knight stood silent, and Ophelia took to opportunity to inspect this curious figure – his brass-hued armor was in tatters, held together by bandages and cloaks. The pointed helm he wore seemed to protrude at an angle, simultaneously a foreboding sign and a comical one. He turned to her, approaching slowly. Ophelia backed away in response.

"This is not place for a simple undead, Sirris." He spoke, hands outstretched. "This wretched pit is a haven for Hollows."

Ophelia glanced about – this haven was, along every corner and edge, littered with ancient corpses.

"We all once believed that to Hollow was to cross beyond the state of undeath. You were no longer Unkindled, or Undead – you were truly a dead man walking. No soul, no spark… but it was a sham. Many Hollowed, including myself, and all that I suffered was a pinch of madness."

He drew ever closer, and the priestess learned that she was quickly running out of room to retreat. "You are mistaken, sir – I am not Sirris, and I do not understand what you're saying!"

"If you should tire of your duty, granddaughter," he continued, almost hastening into a jog, "then you may rest here, and pile up your corpses. After all, a Hollow need not be mad!" He slowed a moment, repeating his words to himself. "No, no, that isn't right," he spoke, continuing his advance once more, "A madman need not be Hollow!"

* * *

Looming high above the knight and sage was the great tower, from which countless arrows had been loosed, and within which the answers to their questions would surely reside. The two pushed its great doors open, and as they entered, they were greeted with a ramshackle lift, rising up to the top of the tower. The whine of the pulleys continued, however, and in its place, a second lift arose, rising to ground level before stopping. Upon it stood a rotund knight, donning magnificent onion-shaped armor.

Rodric and Ephaim glanced at each other, both acknowledging their mutual confusion, before pressing forward.

"Hmm…" the onion-knight mused as the two approached.

The large room remained silent.

"Ah… excuse me, good knight?" Rodric spoke.

"Hmm? Oh!" The onion-knight exclaimed, apparently awakening from his standing slumber. "Pardon me," he began, "I was absorbed in thought – I am Siegward of Catarina."

The old sage inquired what he was doing in this tower, and the onion-knight replied, "To be honest, I'm in a bit of a pickle. Have you ever walked near a birch, only to be struck by a great arrow?" Rodric and Ephaim looked at each other once more, a hint of incredulity shared by the two of them.

"Well, if I'm not mistaken," Siegward continued, "they come from this tower. I have to find a way up, but that's just the trouble – this lift only goes down, you see. And that does not get me anywhere!"

Ephaim nodded in understanding, before using his longstaff to press the pressure plate on the lift platform. The pulleys creaked to life, and the platform sank back down to its previous level, while the lift from the upper level came lowering back to the ground floor. The knight and sage stepped onto the lift, leaving room for the bumbling onion-knight.

"Come then, Siegward. Let us talk sense into this giant." Ephaim spoke.

At the uppermost floor, beyond a short flight of stairs, was the top of the tower. The trio rounded the corner from the lift and ascended to the top, where a great giant stood, bow in hand. He regarded their presence with a grunt, before Siegward stepped forward. Ephaim and Rodric nearly reached out to stop him, but noticed that the onion-knight's presence did not seem to offend the large creature. Instead, it elicited a great, rumbling voice from it.

"Who are you…?" It inquired, trembling the tower with its words.

"I am Siegward of Catarina, and I wish to make peace with you. You see, I wish to traverse this fine land without fear of greatarrows being loosed upon me!" The onion-knight chortled, holding his hand out, perhaps in a symbolic move. The giant grumbled, then knelt to the ground. It produced a small branch, glowing white, and placed it in Siegward's hand.

"I help anytime!" It thundered, as it rose to its feet.

The onion-knight guffawed, turning on his heels triumphantly and walking back down to the lift. Rodric and Ephaim were bewildered at the sight.

* * *

 _"_ _Oh, our Champion of Ash, welcome home. This pilgrim, with a debt in death, hardly deserves to behold this divine flame. And I never would have, had you not taken me into your service. I thank you dearly for this... And assure you of my leal service."_

Landstrider observed the curious pilgrim as he spoke. The two stood in an old canal in the lower level of Firelink Shrine, amidst uprooted stone tiles and cloudy puddles. The peculiar old thing nimbly treaded the line between praise and sycophantism, but the stoic swordswoman found him endearing enough.

 _"_ _As I have said, I was once a sorcerer. Alas, the magic of Londor is a far cry from the wonders of Vinheim. You see, we pilgrims of Londor are keenly aware. That those branded by the Darksign possess something quite special... and I can help tease out your true strength."_ Once the pilgrim began speaking, the swordswoman was compelled to hear him out. He waxed at length about whatever topic sprung to his mind, but Landstrider was unaccustomed to the treatment. Undead were, at best, pushed onward to fulfill their ambiguous duties, and at worst, scorned and hunted down by society. It was a rare occasion, indeed, when an Undead was regarded as a savior, although Landstrider convinced herself that it was _not_ her own hubris that kept her listening to Yoel's words.

She extended her hand to him, and he took it in his own. His hands were frigid to the touch, textured like stone. Landstrider kept herself from shuddering at the contact. _"Then, shall we begin?"_ He croaked, motioning her to kneel. She complied.

 _"_ _Bearer of the Darksign, let your true strength shine…"_

* * *

The chaos demon flailed about, its oversized axe carving through the ground, throwing dirt and grass into the air. Rodric had rolled out of its way, and from behind him dashed Siegward, his large Zweihänder poised to strike. Ephaim channeled a hail of Farron darts, which soared around the demon, before cascading into it, and sending the creature off balance. The proud knight sprung forward, knocking in one of the demon's knees with the force of his shield. Siegward spun his mighty sword in air, before bringing it down on the monstrosity's neck. It collapsed to the ground, dead, before shimmering away into thin air.

The trio stood, panting. The onion-knight exhaled, falling to the ground and assuming a sitting position. "That was quite the performance," he spoke, his words punctuated with gasps for air, "but we mustn't get in over our heads. We Unkindled must put our duties first." Rodric, whose hands rested on his knees, nodded absentmindedly.

"But, for now, we've a toast to make!"

Another incredulous stare ensued between the knight and the sage.

"To your valor, my sword, and our victory together. Long may the sun shine!" The onion-knight guffawed at his toast, producing a mug of liquor from somewhere on his person, and lifting his helmet just enough to take a swig. He passed the mug around, of which Rodric and Ephaim both partook. It was a Catarina spirit, called siegbräu, and it had a chilling bite to it, one that made the two cough in unison.

The trio stood on the other side of the giant's tower, in another part of the Undead Settlement, with the knight and the sage pursuing leads on Ophelia's location wherever they could find them. "Pardon me, brave knight," Ephaim began, sitting beside Siegward, "have you observed anything like… a violet-hued interloper, invading your world from the beyond?" Rodric sensed his own brow furrow at the strange explanation, but the inquiry seemed to suffice for the onion-knight.

"Ah, indeed!" He chuckled. "Phantoms of the mound-makers, those are! Rather uncouth, if I may say so, myself."

Rodric knelt in front of the knight, pressing him for information, "Where are they? Can we find them?" Siegward glanced between the two men, confusion written upon his visage, somehow perceivable even through his oversized helmet. "Well, I-I… can't condone seeking them out. I only know of one mound-maker – his name is Hodrick. Holy Knight Hodrick, and he resides in the Pit of Hollows, below the Curse-Rotted Greatwood." He explained slowly, catching less labored breaths in the process. He extended his hand, pointing beyond the tangled mess of dilapidated houses. "It's in that chapel, over yonder." He uttered, and the knight and sage turned to follow his gesture.

* * *

The interloper continued his advance on Ophelia, but she could retreat no longer, backed up against another pile of corpses. "Sirris," he spoke, reaching his hand out to her, "forget your duty, join me. Build your mounds here – they will give you focus. Purpose. Meaning. The very things we Hollows need."

The priestess had ascended beyond anxiety, and was now trembling at her predicament. She held her talisman forward, whispering a prayer. Suddenly, in a flash of light, a glowing glyph appeared beneath the strange knight, binding his movement and greatly slowing him down. Ophelia seized the opportunity and sprung forth, running past her captor, to the other side of the pit. By the time she reached the other end, her glyph had worn off – and it appeared that the knight's patience had, as well. He drew his undulating blade, and began to run at her from across the pit.

"Stop! Please!" She screamed, clutching her talisman.

Suddenly, a pervasive rumbling shook the pit. The sinister knight stopped, eyeing the root-covered ceiling above. "Ah, well. It seems my time is up." He muttered, before entering a full-on sprint toward the priestess.

In a panic, she began hurling discs of light at him, slowing him down, and in one instance sending him to his knees. He stood, and continued his advance. The rumbling from above intensified, showering dust down into the pit.

Above, Rodric and Ephaim had awoken the Curse-Rotted Greatwood, a great, lumbering tree with wooden limbs, crawling about and sending minor shockwaves across the chapel floor. Hollow villagers emerged from the chapel's upper layers, but they proved no match for soul arrows and spear thrusts. The greatwood, however, proved slightly more competent. When the two Unkindled approached, it would heft itself up on its spindly legs, then drop onto the floor, shaking free the foul fruits that dangled from its branches. A pool of poisonous froth smeared across the grounds as the greatwood dragged itself along.

The horrific thing slammed an oaken hand upon the ground, a space once occupied by the knight and the sage, who had dived to safety. Ephaim lifted himself to his knees, adjusting his hat to inspect the creature's limbs – the hand that had just assaulted them was characterized by a large, fleshy cyst that protruded from its entwined bark and branches. The sage pondered a moment before procuring a firebomb from his satchel and throwing it at the growth.

Aptly enough, the sage missed his mark, but Rodric had noticed this action and understood the sentiment. From his own pouch he produced a paper of charcoal pine resin, drawing it across the tip of his spear, which instantly ignited. Stowing his shield on his back, the knight leapt forward, driving his fiery lance into a different cyst, this one on the greatwood's opposite leg. The boil exploded in a splash of blood, sending the creature reeling back and screeching, which once again shook the floor.

At this point, Ephaim became acutely aware that the ground they stood on was not entirely stable. Dangerous though it may be, the two Unkindled could use this to their advantage.

Rodric rolled out of a swipe of the greatwood's hand, deftly returning to his feet to pierce another cyst, which again exploded in violent fashion. "Rodric!" The sage called out, running to join his comrade, "We must hold onto this creature! The floor is weakening!" The knight heeded the advice, sensing the impending danger. Circling behind the abomination, he discovered another abscess on the greatwood's back, one that was promptly drained by his spear. The thing writhed in pain, leaning back enough for Rodric to grab hold of a cluster of roots, and hoist himself onto the monster's back. Ephaim grabbed one of the arms, holding on for dear life as the greatwood lifted itself up once more, slamming into the ground.

Ophelia held her talisman out, preparing to channel another miracle, when nothing happened. She had expended her metaphysical reserves, and was now at the mercy of her assailant, who was now mere meters away from her. He conjured some peculiar pyromancy, one that seemed to empower his sword with his own lifeforce. The accursed knight lunged forward, swiping his blade with reckless abandon. Ophelia dropped into a roll, maneuvering under the swing and stumbling onward. Her captor was fast on her tail, when a deafening crack pierced the air. The two stopped, and peered upward.

The ceiling collapsed all across the pit, sending massive slabs of stone and debris down below. Immediately after it, however, was the silhouette of a great, living tree tumbling into the pit. The priestess sprinted forward, the strange knight continuing after her. Huge chunks of stone slammed into the ground, throwing groundwater up into the air. Ophelia navigated through the chaos, her assailant unable to keep up with her amidst the cascading debris. His pursuit was quashed, however, when the Curse-Rotted Greatwood landed on top of him, flattening him instantly. The priestess turned to inspect the remains, and instead found Rodric and Ephaim, leaping from the tree-monster's limbs, finishing it off with a swift stab of a spear.

Rodric stepped forward, dropping his spear and holding his arms forward. Ophelia ran to him, and the two embraced. "You came for me – both of you!" She exclaimed as Ephaim approached, patting her shoulder.

"Both of you…" she repeated, cautiously, "… what of the swordswoman?"


	7. VII: Road of Sacrifices

**VII. Road of Sacrifices**

"At the foot of Lothric Castle, an old path still runs below the tower in the Undead Settlement. It was used to transport sacrifices to the Cathedral of the Deep. You should see where it leads… _if_ you've the stones for it."

Landstrider heeded Hawkwood's words, gesturing to him in quiet resolve as she approached Firelink Shrine's bonfire. She knelt in front of it, extending a hand and channeling its power. As she transported away, the shrine grew still once more, but down below, in a damp canal on its lower floor, Yoel struggled to contain his excitement. It would seem that his master was right – his life was granted purpose, and though his faith had been tested, it had all paid off. His soul would be saved, after all.

The stoic swordswoman, as a youth, was skittish and easily frightened. She contemplated this as she traversed the ether to the Undead Settlement. In one instance, she recalled a story about the everlasting dragons, a story that had once terrified her to no end. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw one of the eye-less monstrosities, roaring with its pharyngeal jaws as it breathed fire onto her and melted her skin away. It reminded her of a time in her childhood when she was afraid to even blink, which led to much teasing by her peers.

Something similar seemed to be occurring lately, ever since she awoke from her deathly slumber. When her eyes closed, she saw ambiguous visions, quick flashes of memory from a time she did not recognize – perhaps it was her own past, but she had no way of knowing. It would seem her particular case of undeath came with a healthy dose of amnesia. _Troublesome_ , she thought, _but irrelevant. There is only my duty, now_.

* * *

"So, then… this must be the infamous Road of Sacrifices." Ephaim wondered aloud, striding into the muddied woods beyond the giant's tower. Rodric and Ophelia followed behind, the former having just slain an Outrider Knight, which lay splayed across the ground, an aura of frigid mist emanating from its corpse.

"What do you know of this place, sage?" The proud knight inquired.

"Well," Ephaim began, stroking his wiry beard, "as you may know, Saint Aldrich presided over the Cathedral of the Deep." At this, the gentle priestess rose to attention. "I know that name." She remarked, looking aside as if to better recall her memory. "He was well-respected within the faith of Carim. I once visited his cathedral, you know. I never met him, myself, but the church was a sight to behold. I had made pilgrimage with… with my knight." She softened to a murmur at that point, and found herself drifting closer to her companions.

"I-Indeed, my lady. He was a right and proper cleric, although The Deep has a rather corrosive influence on its denizens – I doubt the clergy realized this, naturally." The sage explained, beckoning Rodric and Ophelia to follow him through the wooded path. "He acquired a rather sinister habit of devouring people," he continued, eliciting a gasp from his cohorts. "Yes, yes. The stories say he swelled into the shape of a great worm, though I confess, I pray those rumors are exaggerated… after all, we are likely to combat him in our quest." At this, the trio rounded a rocky corner, and ahead of them was a curious hollow, much darker than ones they had faced before, hunched over and clutching a jagged, misshapen knife. Rodric readied his spear, and Ephaim finished his story as they approached.

"At any rate," he spoke, drawing forth his longstaff, "this roadway was established to funnel in sacrifices to sate his monstrous appetite." He channeled a soul arrow from his staff, which soared into the hollow, driving it into the ground and killing it.

"All of this, according to the legends, of course." He finished, looking back to his comrades.

The trio carried on, navigating the path, which had opened up into an overgrown canyon of sorts. The peculiar, dark hollows were scattered about, seemingly keeping their distance. However, one reacted rather violently when the group approached too closely, screaming and contorting as large, crow-like wings erupted from its back. The priestess gasped as the creature leapt into the air, flailing its ragged wings about and swinging its knife, scattering a hail of feathers about. Ephaim suffered a rather deep laceration from the attack, so Rodric stepped forth with his mighty shield, absorbing the frantic swipes, replying in kind with his lance. The winged creature slumped to the dirt, dead.

"Are you okay, sage?" The knight inquired, removing his helmet to inspect his companion's wound.

Ephaim coughed, holding his chest with a bloodied hand, "Never better." He sputtered. The priestess knelt at his side, casting a miracle from her talisman. She observed as the wound sutured itself back together with divine magic, though the immediate pain still lingered. The sage gave her a gentle nod in response, and the trio continued onward, more cognizant of the threat of these crow-men.

Proceeding into a clearing, the three found themselves within a congregation of crow-hollows. They froze in place, praying they had alerted none of them. At the front of the group was another crow-man, this one holding a rotted staff to the skies, as if preaching some wordless sermon to the masses. As if sensing their presence, it lowered its head down, glaring at the trio with glowing, blood-red eyes. It reared its head back, and Rodric sprung forward, dashing through the congregation with his spear poised. Ephaim and Ophelia stayed put, preparing their magicks. The crow-man unleashed a deafening howl, ringing through the woods and stirring his audience to life. A chorus of screams echoed out, with a swarm of wings cracking and springing forth from the mob as the hollows spotted their prey.

Rodric's spear found the crow-priest's throat, but he had been too late. He glanced back to find the congregation now fully transformed into manic, winged creatures. They leapt into the air, setting upon the trio from all angles. Ophelia screamed as knives cut away at her armor and skin, and Ephaim could scarcely identify what he was casting his soul arrows at. Aside from the flailing crow-men, a wave of black feathers cascaded upon them, obscuring the party as they attempted to fend off their assailants.

The proud knight was kicked swiftly in the chest, sending him careening off the crow-priest's perch, straight onto his back. His spear escaped his reach, so he produced his shield and clutched it for dear life, as winged hollows clawed at him.

"Do something!" He bellowed, powerless beneath his attackers.

Suddenly, a gout of flame incinerated the creatures flailing atop him, leaving only charred bones in their wake. Ephaim's vision was obscured by feathers, but he identified the shape of a flaming whip cutting through the mob, eliciting frenzied cries from the crow-men as they fell to the mud, dead and smoldering. The trio collectively lowered their arms from their faces, and looked upon their savior, bewildered.

It was Landstrider, cooly sheathing her blade.

"I-I say…" Ephaim choked, "my lady, you have an impeccable sense for dramatic timing." It was silent for a moment, when she muttered, "Those are Corvians."

Offering a hand to the knight, she helped him to his feet, before offering the same to the sage and priestess. Extending her hand forward, she channeled a pyromancy of warmth, which slowly cured her companions' wounds.

* * *

The party navigated the woods, with Landstrider taking the lead alongside Rodric. Her companions pressed her for information on their assailants, but she was rather unhelpful, though not intentionally so. "I know not where this knowledge came from, but I know they are Corvians. Scorned, unloved hollows, with no place to call their own. Cowardly, until backed into a corner." She exposited. Her cohorts were astonished equally by both the recent ambush and the swordswoman's sudden propensity to speak at length.

Crossing a decaying stone bridge, the party passed through an archway and found another large clearing amidst stonework ruins. Far above, they observed the great bridge extending from the Undead Settlement into Lothric Castle. They had traveled a great distance, indeed.

They were, however, not alone in this clearing. In the center was a bonfire, and beside it, two knights. Rodric identified Astoran armor on one of the knights, and the other wore some sort of executioner's armor. The party approached apprehensively, when the Astoran spoke.

"Oh, hello. How do you do?" The knight inquired – it was a woman.

Rodric responded in kind, asking her name. "I'm Anri of Astora," she replied sweetly, "Unkindled, like yourselves." She gestured to her companion, who grunted in a rather Hollowed tone. Ophelia's brow furrowed at the curious sight. "This is Horace." Anri continued, "A friend and traveling companion. We seek the Cathedral of the Deep, home of the grim Aldrich." The Astoran stepped forward, igniting the bonfire with her hand. She and Horace sat down at it, looking expectantly at the four ashen ones. The proud knight sat first, followed by his companions.

"You seek to slay Aldrich, then?" He inquired, and Anri nodded in reply. "Yes," she spoke, "though our reasons are our own. Not all who traveled the Road of Sacrifices met their end at the hands of the man-eater; let us leave it at that." She looked away, solemnly, before asking the party of their names.

"I am Rodric, a knight from Astora, like yourself."

"Ah, I am Sage Ephaim. A pleasure, my lady."

"Sister Ophelia. Good to meet you, Anri, Horace."

"… Landstrider."

The last name caught the Astoran's attention, who looked to the stoic swordswoman curiously. It was impossible to tell, though Landstrider imagined the knight was smiling to her beneath that helmet. She cleared such thoughts from her mind, returning to the moment.

"Since we are all here, fellow Unkindled, abiding to our solemn duties, might we share a pot of Estus soup?" The Astoran questioned. Ephaim cocked his head, asking, "Estus?" Anri nodded.

"Yes – have you journeyed thus far without your Estus Flask?" She asked.

The party of four looked amongst each other, searching for a suitable response. Rodric spoke, "I confess, we do not know what you speak of." Anri's astonishment was palpable, even with her regal helmet on. "Oh, oh." She chortled, retrieving a pot and setting it beside the bonfire.

"That simply won't do."

* * *

After finishing the batch of Estus Soup, the party watched as Anri procured some empty flasks from her rucksack, filling them with the substance, which glowed a fiery orange. It appeared less like soup, and closer to liquid fire. After this, she distributed them among the four ashen ones, who graciously accepted them. Ephaim was the first to taste it, coughing in surprise.

"I say – what a curious drink! I feel… rather rejuvenated." He exclaimed.

Anri nodded, giggling to Horace, though he remained almost motionless. "Indeed!" She laughed, "It's the trademark of any Undead. Our kind has a long and storied history with the Estus Flask." She continued to explain that these curious flasks refill when their carrier rests at a bonfire, and will comfort them in times of great tribulation.

Landstrider observed this curious knight with great interest. She had no hatred for her own companions, but this mystifying kindness was almost foreign to her. Ephaim was kind, of course, but he was a silly man, thinking and speaking a thousand thoughts a second. Ophelia's kindness was more of a gentle aura that she exuded, and Rodric exhibited qualities closer to honesty and fairness than compassion. This Astoran woman had a pervasive magnetism to her, the swordswoman thought, and the fact that her friend was a grumbling mute attested to this. She certainly hoped that they might reunite further along in their duties.

"Well, my friends – it's been good to meet you all. Horace and I have a task to accomplish, and so we must bid farewell. I hope to see you further down the road. Take care."

With that, Anri and Horace departed, leaving the party at the bonfire to deliberate a moment. As the Astoran rounded the nearby archway, she glanced back one last time, meeting Landstrider's own gaze. She then faded from view, and the stoic swordswoman turned to her comrades.

Beyond their particular corner of the woods was a great wall, and within was the accursed swamp of Farron Keep – a fact that had been shared with the party by Anri during their respite. Rodric suggested they proceed there first, as it would require them to snuff out three flames to gain access to the Keep proper, wherein the Abyss Watchers were interred. With the Watchers defeated, they would have the first set of ashes required to link the flame…

"… or whatever we intend to do with the fate of humanity." Rodric remarked dryly, looking to Ephaim, who merely scoffed in response.

The party stood, fastening their newfound Estus Flasks to their belts, venturing forth into the great marsh of Farron Keep.


	8. VIII: Farron Keep

**VIII. Farron Keep**

The Crucifixion Woods, just beyond the Road of Sacrifices, had been an unpleasant traipse for the party – monstrous crabs, exiled Farron knights, lycanthropes and undead dogs plagued the shaded wood. An overwhelming air of decay pervaded the region, as withered trees hung like dried corpses over the shallow ponds. The only structures present were in ruin, likely outposts of the Undead Legion of Farron. At the far end of the bog, however, was a more in-tact building. It was part of the great wall surrounding Farron Keep, and within the structure was a ladder, descending to the foot of the wall, into the swamp.

Unpleasant as the Crucifixion Woods were, they paled in comparison to the marsh that was Farron Keep. The entire area had submerged into the black mire, and the only way through was to wade through knee-deep sludge, though there were small plots of land to navigate between, all decorated with crucified ghouls and burning corpses. The trees here were not dead, but diseased and overgrown, providing a thick canopy, through which very little light could enter. Needless to say, travel for the four Unkindled was greatly hindered.

"At this point, we may reach the Keep proper by the end of the Age of Fire." Rodric mused irritably.

Ephaim drew his longstaff along the surface of the mire, from his relative safety on solid ground. It lagged behind, acquiring mud and filth along the bottom of the shaft. He tapped it against the ground, removing the muck, and looked to his companions. "Perhaps, if we've to snuff the three flames to enter the Keep, we should divide and conquer." He suggested.

"If we split up, we become easier targets, individually." Rodric countered.

"What have we to fear?" Ephaim reminded him, "If we die, we return to this bonfire."

Ophelia spoke up, "I could be kidnapped again." The sage conceded to her on that point, but remarked, "Then we simply rescue you again!" In the end, after a short deliberation, the party opted to split up, each Unkindled seeking and snuffing out a flame. They were not entirely sure what these flames looked like, or where they would be within the black swamp, but they could comb the region much more efficiently as individuals.

* * *

Rodric and Ophelia set out together, with the intention to split up just down the way, while Ephaim trudged forward, quickly disappearing within the mangled tree line. Landstrider, alone once more, went the opposite direction, quickly sinking into deep filth.

After a short time, she felt herself become ill, losing her strength over time – the swamp was poisonous as well, it seemed. Gritting her teeth, she plucked a growth of purple moss from a nearby tree and carried forward. As she walked, she heard clicking from multiple angles. From the mire, four basilisks emerged, expelling a yellow mist onto her. The fog grazed her hand, and she observed it wilting within the vapor. _Accursed fog,_ she ruminated, drawing her blade and slashing at her assailants. Her hand returned to its normal shape shortly after, and she sheathed her sword once the immediate danger appeared to be over.

Suddenly, a splash. She turned to find the source but saw nothing. Another splash, much closer. Something was walking towards her, but proceeding at a meandering peace. Perhaps they meant no harm?

A low chiming sound announced the arrival of a peculiar figure. He glowed a brilliant white, a phantomic color suggesting cooperation. The figure was dressed in church-like robes, and donned a large hat with a golden mask, depicting a rather unsettling, rictus grin.

"Peace, Landstrider." It spoke, its voice hollow, absent any human weight or heft.

"Who are you?" The stoic swordswoman inquired. "I am a Pale Shade of Londor," it remarked, "sent on behalf of our mutual friend, Yoel." With this, the swordswoman relaxed. "You are well along on your quest, and you renew our faith with your exploits." The Pale Shade explained.

"Our?" Landstrider inquired.

"The people of Londor – we've much hope for you. Those of us left, that is."

"What are you _hoping_ I do?"

"That will be revealed in time. For now, Yoel has a humble request of you."

"And that is…?"

"Seek him out at Firelink Shrine, once you have felled the Abyss Watchers."

"Very well."

The Pale Shade nodded at the agreement, and knelt within the mire, producing a black crystal. He faded away into nothingness as he left Landstrider's world, leaving her alone in the poisonous filth once more.

* * *

Ophelia had departed from Rodric's company to investigate her particular corner of the swamp. There was not much to see, just a knotted mess of trees and scum-sucking slugs. Through the rancid fog, however, she made out the shape of a small structure, perhaps a chapel or outpost. She trudged on, approaching this obscured building.

As she neared, she observed that it was a submerged tower of some sort, though there was solid ground around it, fortunately enough. Upon approaching, she heard a hissing, growling sound. She paused for a moment, listening as intently as possible. Another sound – this one not dissimilar to a sword being swung at her neck. She lunged forward, rolling through the mire and onto the ground surrounding the tower.

Looking behind her, she took in the full sight of her attacker. The creature was tall, wearing a tangled armor of ash and bone, with a deathly, hooded skull where its face should be. This monstrosity was unmistakable to her – a Darkwraith, enemies of humanity, and unrepentant heretics in the eyes of the Way of White. In one hand, it carried a wide-bladed sword, and in the other, a swirling, red vortex. The latter was foreign to her, though it prodded at some deep-seated anxiety within her. Red, like the last thing she remembered before her death.

Ophelia needed no further reasons to put this blasphemous entity to the ground. As the dirt and grime dripped from her blessed mail, she dashed forward, dodging a sword swipe from her attacker, before channeling a forceful shockwave from her talisman. The Darkwraith recoiled, flailing its sword as it recovered. Rolling out of the way of another swing, she conjured a bolt of lightning, hurling it at the creature. It cried out in pain, reeling back once more, so the priestess seized the opportunity. She quickly closed the gap, kicking the monster's knee in, sending it to the ground. She clutched the Darkwraith by its hood, conjuring a corona of light, and bringing it down on its face.

The Darkwraith fell, dead. Ophelia stood over its corpse for a moment, still seized with shock. The ruthlessness of her actions brought her discomfort. _But surely an entity of such evil is unworthy of such regret?_ She ruminated.

In the end, the Darkwraith's body was reclaimed by the swamp, as it sunk into the mire forever. The gentle priestess leaned against the wall of the sunken tower, catching her breath. "Is this a test?" She wondered aloud, perhaps with the vain hope that her god was listening.

"The undead curse, the linking of the flame… maybe it is all a test of my faith."

She carried on, rounding the corner of a rocky island amidst the muck, and found a ruined staircase ascending along the other side of it. The priestess followed it up, and discovered a small shrine. It depicted four kings, reminiscent of the ancient tales of New Londo. Below the engraving was a vessel containing a burning flame. Ophelia reached to it, snuffing it with her hand. She looked skyward, and overhead saw a great tower, bearing a large flame of its own. Its fire extinguished, fading into smoke and dissipating into the rancid air.

Two more flames to go.

* * *

Though separated by the entirety of the Farron Swamp, Rodric and Ephaim were facing the same problems. The inner region of the festering wood was inhabited by Ghrus, lithe goat-demons that roamed the muck, carrying their rotted claws and blades in tow. Rodric had faced a small entourage of Ghrus, who failed to put up much resistance to his Lothric Long Spear. As he descended a flight of crumbling stairs, he found himself back in the mire, and surrounded by more Ghrus – though these seemed more feral in comparison. They screamed and leapt upon him, tearing his limbs apart and shredding the fabric from his armor.

Ephaim faced the same feral Ghrus, who made even faster work of him. He and the proud knight even exchanged pleasantries as they rematerialized at the bonfire, before setting off once more. Upon his return, he channeled a hail of soul darts from his longstaff, pelting the goat-demons, but ultimately not accomplishing much beyond angering them. When he revived again at the bonfire, he reached into one of his many pockets, producing an alluring skull, stained with souls and irresistible to most monstrosities.

Rodric pushed further into the swamp, giving the wild Ghrus a wide berth, and venturing further into the unknown. He slinked around a great oak, following the sound of a low hum. The sound grew louder, but disproportionate to how slowly he was approaching. The sound was supplanted by an even lower snarl, and the proud knight turned to face an Elder Ghru, garbed in tattered robes and carrying a decaying tree trunk, looming several feet above him. The beast used its massive tree as a staff, conjuring illusory skulls that descended upon Rodric, slamming him against the oak behind him. The tree trunk came soon after, crushing the knight on impact.

The old sage approached the feral Ghrus, throwing an alluring skull just past them. It crashed against the filthy waters, erupting in a gout of soulstained mist. The Ghrus descended upon it in a frenzy, allowing Ephaim to sneak past unmolested.

As he carried on, he heard the sound of steel clashing, from the top of a nearby island, it seemed. He navigated the maze of trees, reaching an embankment onto the landmass. He ascended, sampling some purple moss to cure himself of the poison he had accumulated. This particular mount was decorated in stone ruins – perhaps this is what he was looking for.

Rounding the corner of the ruins, he saw Landstrider, deftly dodging a spear thrust from a Ghru shaman, responding in kind with her katana. The goat-demon collapsed to the ground, and the swordswoman's blade was now pointed at Ephaim.

"M-My lady," he stammered, "it is I. Might I say, you're a sight for sore eyes!"

The two turned, looking upon a shrine. Engraved upon it was a great, tangled tree, though its design suggested a more sentient thing. "Mhmm…" the old sage mused as he approached the shrine, "I'd wager this depicts the Bed of Chaos, one of the great Lord Souls of antiquity. Are you familiar with Izalith, my lady?"

Landstrider was staring as Ephaim turned to face her. His inquiry seemed to be lost on her as she gazed absentmindedly into the festering woods. "My lady?" He asked, catching her attention. She blinked, collecting her thoughts. A momentary lapse, perhaps.

"Izalith, yes. Home of the witches." The swordswoman replied.

The old sage nodded, "Indeed." He reached forward, extinguishing the flame on the mantle of the shrine.

* * *

A large ruin loomed in the swamp, just beyond the stone gate of Farron Keep proper. Within was the last shrine, guarded by a small mob of Ghrus. They stood at attention as the encroaching sounds of slashing and stabbing grew ever closer. Emerging from the mire was Rodric, spear in hand, almost stumbling to the ground as his injuries gnawed at his bones, the filth he traversed poisoning his very soul. He glanced down to his belt, from which an empty Estus Flask hung.

This knight was furious.

He channeled the last of his strength, dodging and weaving amidst the Ghrus and their flailing claws. He slashed a goat-demon's ankles, absorbed a blow from behind with his mighty shield, dropping to one knee to evade another swipe, driving his spear through a Ghru's knee, then bashing another with his shield. It was a marvelous dance of combat, though the proud knight suffered more strikes and slashes in the scuffle.

At last, the final Ghru fell to the ground, Lothric spear protruding from its corpse. Rodric retrieved it, approaching the final shrine, depicting a large skeleton, lording over a horde of skulls. The proud knight knew nothing of Nito, First of the Dead, whom this shrine was engraved after, but extinguished the flame all the same.

With the last flame snuffed, a low quake rumbled across the marshy floor of the swamp. The great stone gate to Farron Keep cracked and thundered as it opened, perhaps for the first time in centuries. Beyond the threshold was the domain of the Undead Legion – the Abyss Watchers.


	9. IX: The Abyss Watchers

**IX. The Abyss Watchers**

Farron Keep proper was a perplexing sight – the source of innumerable tales and heroes, fallen into ruin and infested with evil, foreign entities. Darkwraiths and Ghrus warred amongst each other in the remnants of the once-great hold.

The great gate swung open, and the four ashen ones converged at its threshold. "Well," the old sage hummed bemusedly, "Farron Swamp is lovely this time of year; what a delightful romp that was!" This elicited the coldest of stares from the proud knight.

"I'm in no mood for your jests." He remarked sternly.

"Come now, I died nearly twice as many times as you, Sir Rodric!"

The Unkindled carried on, stealthing past a congregation of Ghrus; perhaps one sermon was enough for them. As they ascended the muddy pathway, Ophelia, before the others, spotted two roaming Darkwraiths. The righteous fury boiled within her once more, and she succumbed to the urge to stamp out this heresy yet again. She sprung forward, ignoring the protest from her comrades.

Unfortunately, her miracles weren't enough this time around. The Darkwraiths descended upon her with equaled fury, carving her up and poisoning her corpse with abyssal magicks. Rodric pulled his companions behind him, taking cover behind a great, withering tree. "Let us await Ophelia's return, that we might take on these monsters as a team." He pleaded quietly. The others nodded, save for Landstrider, who peered through upturned roots and shrubbery at the Darkwraiths. A strange, red vortex emanated from their left hands, and she felt compelled to compare it to her own hand – no such energy there, at least. What was this peculiar power?

Ophelia returned, and Rodric quickly held her aside. "I know not what brought you to attack those creatures so viciously, but let us take a more… coordinated approach, my lady." He implored, to which the gentle priestess nodded solemnly.

The four moved on, surrounding the Darkwraiths on all sides, descending in a flurry of magic and blade, before being ripped asunder. Ophelia was the last to perish.

When they returned a second time, Rodric opted to use his spear to pester the Darkwraiths, drawing out retaliatory word swipes. Landstrider followed suit, and Ephaim and Ophelia responded with a cascade of soul arrows and coronas. The monstrosities were conquered, falling to the ground. The gentle priestess approached the corpses, kneeling before one of them, and inspecting its hand.

The strange energy dissipated, but she felt the same existential dread as she peered into the vortex, even as it faded into nothingness. She combed through her memories, searching for a clue as to where she knew this energy from. All she could remember was _red_.

Landstrider observed this from where she stood, though her interest was more curious than investigatory.

"Darkwraiths." Ophelia murmured softly.

"What was that?" Rodric inquired.

"Darkwraiths, I said. They are the enemies of mankind."

"Mhmm!" Ephaim chortled, adjusting the brim of his hat. "Tell me what you know of these Darkwraiths, my lady! I wish to compare… notes, if you will."

"Well," Ophelia began, "I know very little. They are of the Abyss, and were, themselves, men once. I remember sermons in Carim, describing them as followers of an ancient serpent, an evil one who stalks the darkness."

Ephaim nodded, "Indeed – Darkstalker Kaathe. I know the name, but little else."

 _Dark this, dark that. Listen to them prattle on._ Landstrider thought dryly. _Darkness is the bedrock of humanity, I don't understand the trepidation._

"Landstrider?"

The stoic swordswoman looked up to see her companions staring at her. She could sense their brows furrowing – more judgment, nothing new there. "Let's go." She uttered.

* * *

There was a bonfire at the perimeter of the Keep, and the party relaxed upon discovering it, as if all previous tensions melted away. They did not stay long, for the knight and sage both were anxious to face the Undead Legion, and claim their ashes.

Landstrider sat a distance away from her comrades, cleaning her sword on the skirt of her ragged robes. The warmth of the bonfire was not comforting for her, at least in this moment, although she did refill her Estus Flask. As she sat, a quiet wisp of sound brushed her ears. She looked for the source of the noise, and found it beside her – a glowing glyph of ancient writing, like shimmering calligraphy on the decayed tiles.

"Well, well." Ephaim spoke, rising slowly to his feet. "Is that a summon sign?"

"Jolly cooperation." Rodric mused to himself, though he knew not where he learned that slogan from.

The old sage approached the sign, inspecting it. "Indeed it is," he explained, "though I cannot imagine from whom." Landstrider knelt and touched it, which quickly sent it fading away. All was silent, save for the swordswoman's disappointed grunt when nothing immediately happened.

Suddenly, a glorious chord sounded, as a radiant figure emerged from the ground – a phantom, glowing like a holy knight. Landstrider knew this phantom.

"It's a Pale Shade." She explained, looking to her comrades. "Of Londor."

Upon his introduction, the Pale Shade offered a deep, courteous bow to the swordswoman and her cohorts. Ephaim and Rodric nodded back, but Ophelia eyed the figure with apprehension. Something about the crest on his robes, and that strange, brass mask; it didn't sit well with her. Rodric noticed this uneasiness, and silently agreed.

* * *

The five proceeded forward, cutting down Ghrus as they neared the mausoleum at the end of Farron Keep.

As they carved through the opposition, the gentle priestess hung back and took stock of their new associate. He conjured an arc of dark soulmasses that homed in on the goat-demons, while he tore through their flesh with iron claws. The next sight disturbed her – he stowed one of his claws away, leaving only his bare fist behind. Ophelia's eyes widened in horror as a red vortex emanated from his left hand, which he used to siphon the lifeforce from his assailants. A Ghru approached, thrusting its rotted spear. The Pale Shade merely dodged his head aside, closing the distance and grasping the goat-demon's gnarled face with his menacing, abyssal hand. Nearly lifting it from the ground, he gripped its snapping maw as the life left its body and transferred to him.

When the corpse hit the dirt, the other companions looked at him with varying levels of surprise. _We've been seeing a wealth of those abyssal hands, as of late_ , Ephaim thought to himself, _hardly a coincidence. What a curious path Landstrider seems to be taking… I pray she takes her choices seriously_.

* * *

They approached the large doors of the mausoleum, and Rodric pushed them open with great effort. As they entered, the violent sounds of swords clashing rung off the very air. Inside, two figures battled with large swords. They donned tall, pointed steel helms, while long, red cloaks flowed behind them. One slashed another, sending blood flying across the floor. The second slashed the first; more blood. They seemed to be mindlessly fighting each other, until the first drove his sword through the second, killing him. Perhaps the party had just witnessed the end of this battle. The lone Abyss Watcher turned to the party, aiming his sword at them, with his other arm, gripping a curved dagger, pressed against his chest, performing some gesture of etiquette before cleaving them apart.

And cleave them apart he did.

The party found it difficult to size this knight up, as he dove around, swinging his mighty blade, shaking the very earth when he struck. He lunged forward, skirting across the ground with his iron plates, kicking up dust and sparks as his obscured form neared Rodric. With a swing of his blade, the proud knight soared into the wall behind him, before another strike laid him out for a short while. Landstrider and the Pale Shade landed a slash or two before the Watcher's attention was turned to them.

The swordswoman lunged with her blade, but the Watcher dodged back, lodging his dagger into the ground, using it as an anchor as he spun around. The momentum slung his sword fast into Landstrider, who flew across the floor, sweeping the Pale Shade's legs from under him. The two tumbled across the cobblestones.

A soul spear struck the Watcher, who stumbled back, dislodging his dagger from the ground. He turned to face Ephaim, who seemed to immediately regret his action. The Undead Legionnaire made quick work of the fragile sorcerer, followed by Ophelia, who made a rather valiant effort to ward herself against the frenzied attacks. As Landstrider, Rodric, and the Pale Shade slowly rose to their feet, they were stunned by what they saw.

Amidst the pile of corpses strewn about the mausoleum, another Abyss Watcher rose, blade and dagger in hand.

* * *

Ephaim snapped back to life at the bonfire, and was rather quickly joined by Ophelia, who hung her head in shame. "Welcome, welcome." The old sage remarked dryly, to which the priestess sighed in response.

"What troubles you, Ophelia? I spied that look on your face before we died."

The priestess gave Ephaim a look that spoke volumes. "Ah, yes." He anticipated, "Landstrider, our newfound ally… that curious red aura on everyone's hands…" he trailed off into a quiet chuckle, coughing afterward. Ophelia patted him on the back, and when he looked to her face, she nodded.

Landstrider and Rodric rematerialized at the bonfire, giving each other an understanding look. "Let's try a different tactic." The proud knight spoke, leading his companions once more into the mausoleum. As she left, the stoic swordswoman summoned her mysterious phantom once more.

* * *

This time, the Pale Shade was the first to go, being rather greedy in his claw swipes before being flattened into the earth. Once more, the lone Watcher sustained an injury, and then another Watcher rose from the piles of corpses to join him. Two Watchers were far more challenging than one, and the duo descended upon Rodric, who absorbed the incoming strikes with his mighty shield. But the onslaught became too much to bear, and his guard was broken. He reeled back as his aegis left his hand, sliding across the floor. A sword through the chest greeted him next as he fell, dead.

Ephaim was similarly met with a frantically swinging sword, one that practically cleaved him in two. Of the five, only Ophelia and Landstrider remained, who reared away from their respective Abyss Watcher, eventually pressed together, back to back. The swordswoman flicked her wrist, conjuring a flame within her hand, while the priestess summoned a corona in her hand. With a shared glance at each other, they pounced forward, meeting their fates with teeth bared.

The third attempt began deceptively well. Ephaim enchanted Rodric's shield with an arcane aura that made his guard nigh unbreakable. The proud knight became the wall of the party, absorbing strikes from the Abyss Watcher as he clutched his shield with both hands. Soul arrows and lightning bolts flew from behind the knight, whittling down the Undead Legionnaire.

As the lumbering Watcher fell to one knee, another rose from the corpse piles. Not unexpected, but then another one rose from another pile. Highly unexpected.

"Three Abyss Watchers?!" Ophelia cried in despair.

Amazingly, the Watchers battled amongst themselves, lashing out at any who would approach. It was this mistake that Ephaim learned as a frenzied blade caught him off-guard and killed him. Ophelia was next, then Landstrider, and then Rodric. As the proud knight died, the Pale Shade stopped in place, clutching his hands in solemn prayer as his connection to this world severed, and he faded away.

* * *

The party once more passed through the fog wall, entering the mausoleum. For a fourth time, they were quickly cut down. And a fifth, and a sixth. The seventh time they nearly saw victory, down to the last Abyss Watcher, but it slew them in the end. The eighth time, they failed once more. And the ninth.

"Gods damn this!" Rodric yelled, throwing his helmet to the ground.

As the proud knight wandered off to cool his mind, the others sat silently at the bonfire. Landstrider's head hung with shame. No one, especially her, thought they could be this weak. "Perhaps if I'd routed that second Legionnaire with a soul arrow…" Ephaim reasoned to himself. Ophelia set a hand on his shoulder, consoling him.

"You cannot think like that. The choices were made – no sense second-guessing yourself, or wishing you'd done something differently." The gentle priestess urged. Ephaim looked to her, slowly removing his hat and running his hand through his wiry, white hair.

It was the first time anyone got a good look at him, and even Landstrider glanced up to inspect his features. Perhaps they expected some noble-faced scholar, but he was simply an old man with old features.

Ophelia continued, "We have been presented a unique opportunity with this curse we bear. We have both the luxury and burden of being able to fix our mistakes. When we die, our blunders repair themselves, and we have a chance to try again." She pointed symbolically beyond the perimeter of Farron Keep.

"The monsters out there have no concept of our shame." She stated.

Rodric returned, hefting his helmet from the ground, and donning it once more. "Tenth time's the charm?" He remarked dryly, to which Ephaim inquired, "Now who is the jester?"

Before they entered the mausoleum, Ephaim applied the enchantment to Rodric's shield. Landstrider conjured a flame in her hands, imbuing her blade, as well as the others', with fire magic. Ophelia offered a prayer of sacred oath, empowering her comrades, and the Pale Shade and sage both cast spells of homing soulmass, producing hovering, magic bolts that orbited around them.

The Abyss Watcher lunged forward, soaring across the ground. Rodric absorbed the blow, from behind which Landstrider and the Pale Shade emerged, slashing the Watcher's legs and driving their blades through its back. The second Watcher arose, and the two continued forward to face it.

Rodric had taken some of the Legionnaire's swordplay to memory, tilting his body to avoid an incoming swipe, responding with his flaming spear. Ophelia summoned a lightning bolt in her hand, driving it into the Watcher, sending him reeling back. Ephaim's homing soul arrows soared into the looming figure, killing it outright.

Another Watcher arose.

Landstrider and the Pale Shade danced elegantly between the reckless sword swipes, the former introducing some rather artistic flips and rolls into her dodging. Their flaming blades wore down the Watcher, before the third Watcher leapt in, dealing the killing blow. It was now five against one. With their combined knowledge, the ashen ones made quick work of the last Abyss Watcher.

It was over, and the mausoleum was silent once more. This silence was intruded by a faint, liquid-like sound. The party's suspicions arose when the Pale Shade hadn't faded away, as phantoms so often do when their connection is severed.

From all corners of the hall, streams of blood arose from the piles of corpses, stretching across the room and coalescing on the first Abyss Watcher's body. After a short time, the streams dried up, and the Legionnaire stood once more, his weapons alight with flame.

It leapt forward, sliding across the ground as it had countless times before, but this time leaving a trail of flames in his wake. Rodric absorbed a blow with his shield, though the flames penetrated his guard, licking at his armor with searing heat. Landstrider took a swig from her Estus Flask before joining the Pale Shade as he charged the Abyss Watcher. A flurry of blade, claw and spear cascaded around the Legionnaire as the party whittled him down.

Ophelia recited her sacred oath once more, and Ephaim retorted with a spell, enchanting his companion's weapons with arcane magic. With this bolstering, the five Unkindled hacked and cleaved into the conical-helmed warrior with renewed strength.

The Abyss Watcher drove his sword into the ground, producing an eruption of flames, scattering the ashen ones as they dove to avoid the fire. All but one – Rodric, who stood stoically, his shield charred with flames. The Abyss Watcher reared back, thrusting his sword forward. With a great warcry, Rodric leaned in, catching the blade along his shield, then swinging it aside, leaving the warrior wide open. The proud knight drove his spear into the Legionnaire's chest, staring intently as the flames died away, and the blood drained from the Abyss Watcher's body.

Landstrider watched as the Pale Shade became slowly transparent, offering a courteous bow before fading away completely. She looked to her comrades, and then to Rodric, who fell to his knees, dropping his lance and shield.

* * *

"You offed the Lords of Cinder, the Undead Legion of Farron?"

Returning once more to Firelink Shrine, the party now had Hawkwood to contend with – a knight of the Undead Legion, himself, but a deserter and critic in recent times. Now, however, he seemed almost inconsolable.

Hawkwood watched as Rodric offered the Abyss Watcher ashes to their throne within the shrine. Ephaim looked to the Firekeeper, and could swear he saw her nodding with approval. Ophelia sat alongside the old sage, warming herself at the bonfire.

Landstrider, however, was back in the canal in the depths of Firelink Shrine. She stared at the corpse of Yoel of Londor, collapsed in the shallow waters of the corridor. The swordswoman felt something, a pang of regret, or perhaps grief. She ran her hand along her forehead as she contemplated the situation, and noticed her fingers felt much leatherier than before. Looking at her hands, she observed deep wrinkles forming along them, like the varicose skin of an old woman. Perhaps her advanced age was catching up with her.

"Oh, prithee… art thou good Yoel's master?"

A soft voice behind Landstrider startled her. She whipped around, hand at her sheathed blade. She looked upon a woman, dressed in an elegant, armored dress, entirely black in color. Her face was obscured by a billed mask, from which a stream of decorative white hair emerged from the back. The woman in black offered a deep bow, similar to the Pale Shade's.

"I am Yuria of Londor, a close friend of his." She explained. "Thanks to thee, Yoel's soul is redeem'd. Allow me to express my gratitude, in his stead."

Landstrider nodded in response, and Yuria continued.

"Another matter – thou'rt a Lord, art thou not?" To this, the swordswoman's brow furrowed. She questioned the statement, but the woman in black spoke once more. "Bearer of the dark sigil, and our Lord of Hollows. For the time thou remain'st our Lord, we of Londor shall serve thee…"

"… and I, of course, am also thine."

The swordswoman was taken aback, but not unpleasantly so. She had never been a Lord of anything, at least that she could remember. While she had little regard for Londor and their churches and faith, the allure of it all was palpable. This Yuria had an aura of darkness, but a gentle darkness, one that belonged in this world, and Landstrider liked it. The two spoke with each other some more, the swordswoman inquiring on her destiny as Yuria's Lord of Hollows. The details were intense, and she learned a great deal.

All the while, from an archway overhead, Ophelia observed the meeting from the Shrine above. _Lord of Hollows_ , she recited in her head, quickly turning to hide behind the corner, _what has that woman gotten herself into?_ She would have to consult Ephaim on this matter, though whether she could trust him to keep that information to himself was another matter.

"Ophelia, my lady, have you seen Landstrider?" Rodric inquired, approaching the gentle priestess. She hesitated a moment, looking to the ground as she prepared her answer.

"I'm afraid not, Sir Rodric. I was just looking for her, myself."


	10. X: Cathedral of the Deep

**X. Cathedral of the Deep**

Stepping once more into the marshy canyons of the Crucifixion Woods brought a renewed sense of impending dread, though the party agreed it was a step above the poisonous swamps of Farron Keep. The threats they had faced since they were last here put these particular creatures to shame. The ashen ones had grown stronger, the Firekeeper channeling the souls they had collected into themselves. Rodric's strength had bolstered, as well as Ophelia's faith, Ephaim's intelligence, and Landstrider's dexterity, respectively.

The party strode through the bog, cutting down monsters left and right as they closed in on the structure at the far end of the woods. It was infested with undead sorcerers, and Ephaim was quick to route them with his superior magicks. Reaching an upper level, the party came across a lone man, curly-haired and garbed in black, inhabiting what appeared to be a study.

"Well, this is unexpected," he uttered, looking away from his scrolls to the ashen ones, "I don't often have visitors. What do you want?"

A rather straightforward question, though no one had a direct answer.

The old sage stepped forward, speaking, "Hail, young man. We seek the Cathedral of the Deep." The words fell flat, as the young scholar dryly looked behind him, at the great cathedral quite visibly looming over the woods behind him. He returned his gaze to Ephaim, sighing.

"If you haven't any business, I've reading to get back to."

"I say, are those sorceries you are studying?" The old sage inquired, to which the young scholar nodded. "Perhaps we can unravel them at Firelink Shrine – I daresay it is safer _there_ than the middle of the Crucifixion Woods!"

"How intriguing." The man replied. "Very well. Although I believe you are not the sort of man who demands service without recompense."

"Recompense? What do you have in mind, scholar?"

"You will make me a promise – you will bring me knowledge, in the form of scrolls."

"I am a sage of the Grand Archives; there will be more scrolls than you can fathom!"

"Good. I trust you understand the weight of a promise."

"What shall we call you?"

"I am Orbeck of Vinheim… and I look forward to our arrangement."

It seemed that only mysterious individuals could make a living in this decaying world, though this encounter had been considerably more pleasant than their dealings with the Pale Shade.

* * *

With another ally to their cause, nevermind his hasty departure to Firelink Shrine, the Unkindled felt renewed in their cause. Proceeding forward through the dilapidated building, they came upon a clearing. It appeared to be a great hall, though nearly everything was reclaimed by the woods, save for some pillars and walls. Not even the ceiling existed anymore. As the party entered, a wall of white fog formed behind them.

"Gods, another fight." Rodric muttered, donning his helm.

From the far end of the clearing, a large, robed figure emerged, wearing a wide-brimmed hat identical to Ephaim's. This elicited concerned glances from the other Unkindled, who looked to their old companion.

"It's a Crystal Sage, one of the legendary scholars of the Grand Archives." He explained, though he appeared highly anxious of the encounter.

The Crystal Sage grunted, its gravelly voice a dissonant chorus of wails and cries. It sounded as if a dozen mouths were speaking through him, yelling and humming simultaneously. The figure lurched back, conjuring a sphere of soulmasses, a tactic that must have inspired the likes of Ephaim.

The soulmasses orbited the Crystal Sage, firing off one at a time as Rodric approached. His crest shield was ill-suited for arcane energies, and he was knocked off his feet. Ephaim and Landstrider's robes, however, fared much better. They approached the looming sorcerer, unleashing spells of soul and flame, whittling away at the great undead.

Before long, the whole party had encircled the Sage, carving and slicing and blasting it into oblivion. With an ear-ringing chime, however, the Sage wailed, sinking into the ground and vanishing.

All was quiet – the Unkindled looked amongst themselves, then back to the battlefield.

Without warning, great ethereal crystals erupted from the ground, forming an obstacle course of razor-sharp spikes. As they quickly formed into large, crystalline shapes, a dozen Crystal Sages spawned from the all corners of the hall, conjuring soul spears to throw at the party.

"Ah, this trick. Look for the purple magic!" Ephaim commanded, scanning about.

Blue-hued soul spears careened past as the ashen ones sprung forth, dodging between crystals and projectiles as they sought cover. Landstrider dove forward, crouching behind a great spike, before it shattered on impact with a soul spear, knocking her back. She hurled a fireball at the Sage attacking her, and as it struck, the Sage wailed and vanished into thin air. _Imposters!_ She realized. _This ought to make things easier._

Ophelia's wards negated the incoming soul spears, though no one was expecting the crystalline dragon breath conjured by one of the Crystal Sages. From the mist, a beam of arcane energy fired across the hall, striking Rodric and the gentle priestess, before a cascade of crystals followed suit, tossing them into the air.

Ephaim spotted the real Crystal Sage, firing soul arrows at it, dispelling the other illusory assailants.

Quickly joined by his comrades, the old sage made short work of the sorcerer. The sovereignless souls the party had channeled into themselves proved to greatly enhance their abilities. This quick success was a testament to this notion.

* * *

Beyond the Crystal Sage was a dense patch of forest, separating it from the Cathedral of the Deep. As they continued onward, Rodric pressed Ephaim for details regarding their recent encounter.

"So, who was this… Crystal Sage?"

"No one of consequence, I'm afraid."

"Ephaim…"

"There are two of them, twins, both prominent scholars of the Grand Archives."

"You harbor great anxiety for someone of no consequence."

"It isn't them, it's the memory of the place… and their favored pupil."

The old sage hurried forward, wishing the matter to be dropped. The proud knight quickly intuited this and obliged. Passing through the forest revealed an overgrown path, spiraling right up to the front gate of the sprawling cathedral. The way, however, had been blocked with piles of debris. Another path up to the church would have to be found.

That path was quickly identified. "This is the Cleansing Chapel." Ophelia explained, leading the party into the small chantry beneath the cathedral proper. Upon this second visit, the gentle priestess reconsidered her initial admiration for the place. A glowing soul emanated from the corner of the chapel. Ophelia picked it up, and the thing materialized into a barbed whip, which she examined before dropping to the floor.

"I confess, I had a rather naïve view of this place when I first traveled here with my knight." She exposited, looking around the room with her companions. "I assumed 'cleansing' had something to do with… hmm, spiritual purification, I suppose."

"Mhmm," mused Ephaim, lighting a bonfire at the altar of the chapel, "Aldrich's cleverness was matched only by his appetite. I doubt anyone outside of his following knew the true purpose of this cathedral. The question remains, though… what is The Deep?"

Landstrider inspected the statuettes that decorated the room – they depicted veiled women, all weeping into their hands. She scoffed, drawing a surprised, collective glance from her cohorts. Hesitating a moment, she looked back to them, before returning to her investigation. Eventually, the party rested at the bonfire, and Ophelia recalled more of her previous visit, sharing the details mainly with Rodric, and the sage when his attention was focused.

"I took part in a sermon, here, in this chapel."

"And you suspected nothing?"

"Nothing – they even allowed me to walk the main floor of the cathedral."

"But you never met Aldrich."

"I was barred from ever meeting him."

"To think… you were within breathing distance of that maneater…!"

"Oh, Rodric… do not fret, I still found a different way to die."

With that, she let out a defeated chuckle, and the proud knight eyed her worryingly. The party stood, departing the chapel to proceed along a separate pathway into the cathedral.

* * *

The detour proved arduous, as the ashen ones had to pass through a graveyard. As they traversed the hallowed grounds, pockets of dark energy would form along the ground, from which ghouls would emerge, setting upon the party with mindless fervor. Landstrider's flames and Rodric's torch quickly trivialized the issue, and before long, the party reached the outside of the cathedral.

Navigating rooftops and buttresses, connected only by rotting planks of wood, the party was ambushed by undead thralls and clergymen. At best, they were nuisances, but the real challenge came from the roving Grave Wardens, undead swordsmen that quickly carved up the Unkindled in a frenzy of slashes and stabs.

Upon their return, Rodric took greater care to shield his companions from the Grave Wardens, responding in kind with his mighty spear. Even Landstrider struggled to keep up with the dexterous undead; they even matched her in their pyromantic skill.

Ophelia, unfortunately, had been slain once more, pushed from a rooftop to her death.

On their second return trip, the Grave Wardens were dispatched, and the party reached the side entrance to the cathedral. Pushing the great doors open, the party was met by a foul odor, not dissimilar to a thousand rotting corpses. Ophelia and Ephaim gagged at the smell, the latter coughing and sputtering in disgust.

Continuing forward, the party emerged onto the upper floor of the great church, looking upon the entirety of the cathedral, both magnificent and dreadful. It was a glorious spectacle, tainted by the shallow lake of filth that subsided at the main floor. In the mire, however, were two slumbering giants, as well as a small horde of sentient slimes that slithered amidst the squalor.

"I admit, I'm not entirely sure what to make of all this." The proud knight confessed, perhaps feeling less proud and more revolted.

"Indeed." The sage muttered. "I suspect we shall find Aldrich there."

He pointed across the expanse of the great church, at the far end of the hall. A large statue, covered by a red cloth, just blocked the view of a white fog wall. Undoubtedly, that was the location of Aldrich's chambers.

The trek there was fraught with danger. Lumbering cathedral knights patrolled the halls with their colossal maces and greatswords. Ophelia found their presence unnerving, but their combination of sword-and-miracle rather inspiring. Ephaim, on the other hand, discovered the truth of The Deep. Passing by an outside balcony, the party observed an enclosed lake of pure darkness – not a mote of light penetrated the void.

"It seems The Deep is just some echo of the Abyss." The sage reasoned, dropping a rock into the darkness. Not a sound as the rock vanished into the ether.

At this, Landstrider perked up, giving Ephaim a concerned look. _The Abyss_ , she repeated to herself. She found the term perfectly described the peculiar connection she felt with the dark. Regardless, after much tribulation, the party pushed forward, stealthing past the slumbering giants and reaching the great statue at the opposite end of the cathedral.

Dispatching more undead clergymen, the massive hall quickly fell into a deafening silence. The quiet was only pierced by the familiar _wishing_ sound of a summon sign appearing.

Rounding the great statue, the party discovered two signs – Anri and Horace. Quickly summoning them, they were met with glowing, phantomic avatars of their Astoran companions. "Good to see you again, friends." Anri spoke, her voice reverberating with a haunting echo. Landstrider found it comforting, and quickly masked her smile when the Astoran knight looked to her. Horace simply grunted.

Approaching the fog wall, the six Unkindled passed beyond its threshold, entering Aldrich's chambers. Curiously, the maneater was not there, just his massive coffin in the center of the room; but in his stead was a congregation of undead deacons. They immediately casted a hail of fireballs upon the party, who quickly scattered to avoid the assault. Landstrider dropped to the ground, dodging the incoming flames, but unwisely providing a clear target for a second round of fire.

The second round never came. Rather, it never struck, as Anri was standing ahead of her, absorbing the entire bout of flames with her crest shield. Landstrider rose to her feet, enamored only for a moment before she and the Astoran knight charged forward, blades at the ready.

The deacons fell like flies, crumpling under the barrage of swords and magicks the party employed.

As the undead clergy thinned, their ranks were quickly replenished by more, spawning from the ground, much like the ghouls outside the cathedral. Their numbers had bolstered, and combined with a few tactical oversights, the party had now found themselves completely surrounded by deacons, preparing another volley of fireballs.

An ear-splitting howl rang through the room, drawing everyone's attention to the ground near Aldrich's coffin. Another pocket of darkness opened, and from it protruded a long, regal staff. As it rose from The Deep, it was followed by an ornately dressed undead archdeacon, clutching the bottom of the staff. Beside this undead were more deacons emerging from the darkness.

"Everyone – the undead with the papal hat!" Rodric commanded.

The six companions focused their assault upon the archdeacon, hacking and slashing until it was merely a pile of bone and ash on the ground. No sooner then it had arisen did the archdeacon return to death. With this, the congregation surrounding the party immediately died off in response, falling to the ground one after another.

The great room was still.

Anri, still in phantom form, raced over to Aldrich's great coffin, scaling the side of it and peering into the casket. Ophelia quickly joined her in the inspection.

"He isn't here!" The Astoran knight cried, looking to Horace.

Anri reached into the deep coffin, producing a small, silverwork doll from within. She and the priestess climbed back down, reuniting with the party. Ephaim immediately fell silent as he inspected the peculiar doll. Rodric recognized this look, and pressed him for information.

"Ephaim…?"

"Listen closely to the doll, Rodric."

The proud knight complied, receiving the thing from Anri, and holding it to his ear. A faint, hollow voice softly whispered to him: "Wherever you go, the moon still sets in Irithyll. Wherever you may be, Irithyll is still your home."

He returned the doll to Anri, and with that, it seemed her and Horace's connection to the world had severed, and they slowly faded into thin air.

Rodric turned to face his companions. "Let us rendezvous with them at Firelink Shrine. I suspect we may have a lead on where Aldrich went." Looking at Ephaim, he noticed that same anxiety from earlier. _It seems there is a whole web of anguish the old sage is entangled in._ He thought. _Irithyll, the Grand Archives… it must all be connected, somehow._

Their task completed, the proud knight produced a homeward bone from his rucksack, warping the party away, whisking them back to Firelink Shrine.


	11. XI: Lord of Hollows

**XI. Lord of Hollows**

"You know, we of Astora appreciate those who let their actions speak for them."

Landstrider nodded in response, as she and Anri walked along the perimeter of Firelink Shrine. The place was solemn, as always, though more crowded than usual, as several Unkindled had coalesced there to ease their burdens. A Finger of Rosaria had claimed a perch to brood menacingly from, as well as some shady merchant named Patches – and there was a peculiar knightess of the Sunless Realms who made her presence known, as well. Additionally, Orbeck of Vinheim had taken up residence by the blacksmith, poring over his scrolls with unparalleled focus.

The stoic swordswoman spoke up, her voice shaky from lack of use. "What happened to your homeland… Astora?" She inquired, trying her best to avert her eyes from the knight beside her. Anri sighed, offering a quiet reply.

"It was destroyed, long ago, by a terrible beast."

"Were you there?"

Anri chuckled softly in response, "No, it was before my time." She unsheathed her royal sword, showing it to Landstrider. "I found this, as well as my armor, when I visited the ruins of Astora. I claimed it as my own. I thought to myself, perhaps the mythic weight of that name… 'Astora,' it would legitimize my cause, give greater purpose to my duty." Sheathing the blade, she looked wistfully out along the horizon as the two entered the Firelink courtyard.

"I do doubt my duty, you know. I think we all do, at some point." She posited.

"What did Aldrich do to you?"

"That's…" the Astoran began, but hesitated. Landstrider perceived a great storm of emotion beneath the knight's helmet. "Perhaps I will tell you, someday. I don't think I am ready for that. Forgive me." The stoic swordswoman nodded to her, and the two continued forth outside.

* * *

"We know that Aldrich is in Irithyll, the problem is _getting_ there, sage." Rodric explained, rubbing his forehead. "I understand," Ephaim countered, as he had a dozen times already, "but historically, the Boreal Valley was much farther away, separated by hundreds of miles. These lands could have converged any number of ways – it is impossible to say."

The two continued to verbally spar, and so Ophelia removed herself from their presence, seeking out a place to meditate. Perhaps she could divine the answer on her own.

Anri and Landstrider finally returned, the former joining Rodric and Ephaim to discuss their next steps. The stoic swordswoman, however, slinked away to collude with Yuria once more. Ophelia spied her from above, eyeing her cautiously.

* * *

"Our Lord and Liege," the woman in black whispered sweetly, "knowest thou of a maid named Anri? She is a Hollow, like us… and will join thee in wedlock."

Landstrider was stunned, almost choking in response. "Wedlock?" She questioned. Yuria nodded, her smug grin obvious, even through her billed mask. "Indeed, my Lord. A fellow of mine guides her at this very moment. When the time is ripe, thou mayst make thy salutations… for what Lord taketh no spouse?"

It was surprise for the stoic swordswoman, though not an entirely unpleasant one. She had grown rather fond of Anri – her strength, conviction, and that gentle voice that flowed like honey. She dwelled a moment on the sound of that voice. Perhaps it was no longer wrong to entertain such thoughts, since the swordswoman would be taking her as her bride.

"Very well." Landstrider softly replied.

"There is another matter, my Lord." Yuria began, edging closer to the swordswoman. "I'm afraid I must say… Orbeck of Vinheim is a cause of much consternation." Landstrider's brow furrowed at the assertion, but allowed the woman in black to continue. "He proclaimeth himself Lord of Hollows. If left alone, he may one day imperil thy rule."

"What am I to do about this?" The swordswoman inquired.

"What thou do'th best, good Hollow."

"Kill him…?"

Yuria nodded hastily. "Fall to this matter yarely," she warned, "else we are unraveled. Decisiveness is the mark of a true monarch."

The woman in black produced a shimmering soul, holding it to Landstrider. "I do have a gift for thee, to ease the duties thou bear'st. A treasure of Londor, befitting of a true Lord." Landstrider touched the soul, which materialized into a peculiar red vortex. The swordswoman breathed deeply, anxiously, as the energy affixed itself to her left hand. She held it up, inspecting it – she could almost become lost in the gentle darkness she now wielded. This was weaponized Abyss.

"My Lord of Hollows, you have been gifted the _Dark Hand._ May the dark sigil guide thee."

* * *

Rodric, Ephaim, and Anri had finally discovered a way into Irithyll, as the old sage had procured some historical texts from Orbeck just moments earlier. The sprawling Catacombs of Carthus would be their entryway, as it stretched from the hallowed grounds of Farron Keep all the way to the city of Irithyll.

"If there was ever a place to enter the Catacombs from Farron Keep, I'd wager it'd be the mausoleum of the Abyss Watchers." The proud knight reasoned, drawing nods of agreement from his companions.

Landstrider rejoined the Unkindled, joined shortly after by Ophelia, who glanced suspiciously at the swordswoman.

"Friends, you made good timing." Rodric spoke, donning his helm. "Anri and Horace are off to Irithyll, by way of the Catacombs of Carthus."

The old sage nodded, adding, "Yes, and once I've spoken with Orbeck again, we will be right behind them. This mystery may yet be unraveled." Landstrider felt herself twitch at the name of the young sorcerer. _Pretender_ , she thought to herself, _proclaiming himself the Lord of Hollows._ She felt minor concern for her sudden animosity toward the man, but she could scarcely afford to be soft when she became a monarch.

Landstrider clenched her fist unconsciously, then looked down to inspect it. Her skin condition seemed to be worsening, looking rather old and sickly, even compared to before. She unraveled some of the wrappings from her arm, where she discovered further withering of her skin. Quickly, she retied the wrappings, hiding her hands from her companions. With slight worry, she raised a hand to her face, where she felt a similar, withered texture.

Anri and Horace warped away at the bonfire, the former offering Landstrider a quick look before departing. Ephaim, likewise, left a moment to offer Orbeck his thanks. A short time later, the party left for the mausoleum of the Abyss Watchers.


	12. XII: Catacombs of Carthus

**XII. Catacombs of Carthus**

The silence of the Farron Keep mausoleum was violated by a powerful rumbling. Ephaim stood, satisfied, as the altar at the end of the room slowly slid back, revealing a staircase into the underground.

"Ah," he sighed contently, "this is the joy of discovery that scholars experience daily."

The old sage looked to Rodric with feigned condescension, jeering, "It's not too late for you, Lion Knight. The dedicated studies of a Grand Archivist is its own reward." The proud knight was unfazed, meeting the old man's stare with his own, unflinching, disciplined glare. This was enough to dissuade Ephaim from further provocation, so he led the party down the staircase.

As they descended, the altar above them rumbled once more, sliding back into place and shrouding the Unkindled in darkness. Only the faint light from below could guide them now.

Stepping out into a great chamber, the four ashen ones took in the majesty of the Carthus Catacombs – a dilapidated, crumbling ruin, but one that stood proud and mostly intact, nonetheless. A network of bridges and crypts decorated the underground spire, which stretched downward into a shrouded abyss; a very long fall, indeed. The proud knight stepped forward, donning his helm and turning to address his companions.

"I suggest we seek out Anri and Horace, and proceed to Irithyll from there."

He was met with unanimous agreement, and so the four moved onward. They walked along the opened chamber, and from the ledge extended a great, crumbling bridge. At the opposite end of it was a tall, lumbering skeleton – eyes burning red, with a tattered cape flowing from its shoulders, and a curved sword in its hand. It approached slowly, before lunging at the party, its form becoming obscured as it rolled across the bridge.

Rodric primed his spear, rearing back to deliver a powerful strike. He followed through, thrusting his spear into what appeared to be nothing. With a sickening crack, the skeleton's form materialized once more, and it was flung onto its back. Ophelia readied a lightning bolt, but Ephaim was faster on the draw, killing the bonewalker with a soul arrow.

"Take heed…" Ophelia warned, as the party marched onward.

The gentle priestess stood, and after a few seconds, Rodric stopped to look back at her. Between them, the scattered bones of the defeated skeleton reassembled, moving of their own accord back into the form of the skeleton. The proud knight dashed forward, but his concern was quickly alleviated when a corona of brilliant light burst the skeleton apart once more. Ophelia stepped forward, hands behind her back.

"… for only divine magic can truly _kill_ a skeleton."

Ephaim could hardly contain his approval, and even Rodric chuckled at the display. "You're truly a force of nature, priestess." He mused, offering his hand. Ophelia took it, stepping over the broken remains of the creature.

* * *

The party navigated the labyrinthine tunnels and pathways of the catacombs, battling reassembling skeletons and undead. Ephaim was cut down at one point, returning just minutes later after a quick traipse from the bonfire. Ophelia was faring the best out of the group, as her miracles kept her attackers down permanently, whereas the others were having to kill their enemies over and over before moving on.

Ahead was a large doorway with a wide staircase descending further down into the crypt, stretching across the chasm they had traversed earlier. Some lithe skeletons mindlessly patrolled the bridge, of little concern to the veteran skeleton-slayers, so they pressed on.

Landstrider thrust her blade through the ribcage of a skeleton, immediately dispelling its form and scattering bones across the crumbling staircase. Rodric dove forward, low to the ground, catching a bonewalker on his mighty shield, before hefting the creature up and over his back, where it quickly met one of Ophelia's lugged lightning bolts, shattering it into pieces.

Suddenly, a loud crack resounded through the massive chamber, followed by a rumbling, one that grew progressively louder. The source of the noise fast became apparent, and the party turned, almost in unison, to the top of the staircase. A massive boulder, made up of a hundred entwined skeletons, emerged from the previous doorway, rolling down the stairs behind them. The creatures interred within clacked and screeched as the ball tumbled down toward the party.

"Run!" Rodric cried, stowing his shield on his back, and breaking into a full sprint down the remainder of the staircase. Ophelia was quickly behind him, followed by Landstrider and Ephaim. The old sage could scarcely keep up with his companions, stumbling and tripping as he descended the stairs. The stoic swordswoman stopped when she heard his whimpers, looking back only to witness the bone-sphere gaining quickly. She leaped to Ephaim's aid, grabbing him by his robes, and tossing him down the stairs with a guttural cry. The old sage crashed onto the ledge at the bottom of the stairs, where Rodric and Ophelia pulled him aside, out of the path of the oncoming boulder.

"Move!" The priestess yelled.

Landstrider awoke at the bonfire. _Not fast enough_ , she thought, _but no matter._ Not wishing to put herself through the stress of outrunning a boulder again, she opted to seek out a shortcut to reunite with her companions.

As she emerged into the chambers once again, she spotted the bone-sphere, rolling back up the long staircase, far below. It vanished beyond the doorway across the chasm, but moments later, came rolling back out again, descending the stairs.

"Hmph," she snorted, "I'm not doing that again."

Scanning the ruins around her, she spotted a crumbling ledge off to the side. Proceeding toward it, she found a series of ledges and outcroppings that would lead her down to a lower level. She took the path, descending into a side corridor, but did not find a way forward.

Instead, she found Anri, standing in the corner of a small crypt, head in her hands. The stoic swordswoman was, in that moment, hardly stoic; she sheathed her blade, wiping her hands on her robes, and adjusting her hood as she approached.

"A-Anri…?" She called out in a hushed tone.

The Astoran raised her head tentatively, but upon seeing the swordswoman, ran to embrace her. "Oh!" She exclaimed, "How very fortunate to see you, Landstrider!" The embrace ended, much to the swordswoman's dismay.

Anri looked about, visibly concerned. "Have you seen Horace?" She inquired, fidgeting her hands nervously.

"I have not."

"I see… to my shame, I was snared by a trap and have been unable to find him since."

"There is a way down from here. Come with me."

"Very well – Horace is probably searching for me, himself, with twice the resolve!"

The heroic Astoran knight clearly needed guidance in this moment of weakness, so Landstrider offered her hand. Gingerly, Anri took it, and the stoic swordswoman led her back to the main chamber.

Skeleton archers hindered their journey, but the way forward was clear – the two women descended the crumbling ledges and walkways down to the bottom of the long staircase. Before they continued, they waited as the bone-sphere careened past, rolling back up the stairs to cross the chasm.

Within no time, they reunited with Rodric and the others, who had just cut down a skeletal sorcerer. As its bones clattered about on the floor, the bone-sphere rolled past one last time, slamming into a wall and crumbling apart.

"Mhmm! So, it _was_ the work of a mage!" Ephaim concluded victoriously.

The others did not share his enthusiasm, though Rodric offered Landstrider a nod as she rejoined them. "Anri," he spoke, approaching the Astoran, "good to see you. Where's your companion?" Anri looked aside for a moment, replying, "Missing. We became separated, and I have not seen him in some time."

Rodric nodded understandingly, reassuring her, "We'll find him, don't worry." He stepped forward to lead the party once more.

* * *

Bonewalkers crowded the hallowed halls of Carthus, and the deeper the party ventured into its endless corridors, the more desperate Anri's plight became. They reached another impasse with a skeleton-boulder, but quickly found the sorcerers binding it, and eliminated them.

After a lengthy trek, they found another bonfire, this one unlit.

The five ashen ones took a short rest, refilling their Estus Flasks. "So, sage," Rodric began, looking to Ephaim, "what awaits you in Irithyll? I confess, you do not seem elated to have to return there." The old man stood, nodding solemnly.

"Ah… a great many things." He replied.

"Such as…?"

"There are sins that I must atone for."

"And you'll find your catharsis there?"

"Probably not."

"Well, it may be worth the effort, my friend."

The proud knight rested his hand on Ephaim's shoulder, which seemed to calm the anxious sorcerer for the moment. Landstrider observed this, trying it for herself on Anri's shoulder. It seemed to work just as well, with the Astoran looking to her and nodding. Perhaps she even smiled, underneath that shining knight's helm.

A few moments later, the party ventured on. Another skeleton-boulder assaulted them, but they continued forward, tiring of hunting down bone-mages. Descending through a winding tunnel, the ashen ones emerged into a large cavern, one that funneled down into murky waters far below. The only point of interest in the sprawling cave was a rickety, wooden bridge, one that stretched across to another tunnel.

The party approached the bridge, and Rodric held his hand out. "Wait," he commanded, placing his foot on the bridge, "let me cross – I'll find out if this is fit to travel." He took another step forward, then another.

"Anri, it's safe." He stated, turning back partway through his trek.

The Astoran knight stepped onto the bridge, eliciting a loud _crack._ "Wait, wait!" Ephaim exclaimed, pulling her back. As he did so, Rodric reached the other side. "One at a time, please." He implored, allowing Anri to cross. As she walked, some skeletons assembled from the dust behind the Unkindled – which Ophelia and Landstrider made quick work of. Anri soon crossed, slowly, joining Rodric on the other side. Ephaim followed shortly after, at an even more cautious pace.

More skeletons assembled, but Ophelia's lightning bolts quickly peeled them apart. Landstrider stepped onto the bridge, when a dull chime rang throughout the cavern. "An invader." The stoic swordswoman whispered, looking back to Ophelia, who stood behind her, a panicked expression affixed to her face.

"Ephaim, hurry!" The priestess pleaded.

From behind them, a shimmering, red figure emerged from the darkness, in a dead sprint toward the bridge. It was indeed an invader, wearing black iron armor and carrying a colossal, half-melted sword. Ephaim finally crossed the gap, but it was too late.

The phantom lunged forward, hefting his massive blade straight into Ophelia, nearly cleaving her in two, and sending her straight into Landstrider's back. The two tumbled onto the rickety bridge, which cracked again, swaying under the weight. The swordswoman quickly recovered, holding her blade up with both hands, just in time to catch a swing from the lumbering invader. Any ordinary blade would have likely snapped under the power of the strike.

Ophelia writhed in excruciating pain, watching as the swordswoman kicked the phantom back. Reaching to her belt, Landstrider uncapped her Estus Flask, dumping its contents onto the priestess's body. The warmth of the Estus slowly seeped into her wounds, mending them.

"Don't fight him – run!" Rodric exclaimed.

As the priestess's strength returned, she struggled to rise to her knees. Landstrider dodged another swing from the invader, but had lost momentum with her sword-arm – the next strike would likely kill her. In a moment of desperation, extended her left hand out. A whirlwind of red energy wavered into existence in her palm, a sight which Ophelia observed in wide-eyed horror. Channeling the full power of the Dark Hand, Landstrider reached and grasped the invader's face, immediately sensing the life drain from his body.

The power was intoxicating – the energy flowed from the interloper straight into the swordswoman, and with her bolstered strength, she single-handedly shoved him into the ground.

Ophelia backed away in panic, her hands and legs fumbling along the splintered, wooden planks. The great laceration that had extended from her head to her knees had healed completely, and she quickly found the strength to fully stand. As she did so, Landstrider turned to join her in crossing the bridge.

As they ran, the interloper stood, drained but still alive. He hefted his greatsword up in the air. "Landstrider!" Anri cried, stopped by Rodric from running back across the bridge. With a mighty swing, the interloper cut through the threaded handrails of the bridge, creating a cascade of chain-reactions as ropes and counterbalances snapped. Planks fell, wrappings unraveled, and the bridge tore right in the middle, splitting it in two as it snapped apart.

Landstrider grabbed ahold of a plank, quickly catching Ophelia as their end of the bridge swung down and back against the cavern walls. The priestess latched on to her own planks, hanging for dear life as they slammed against the cliffside. The invader himself tumbled forward, careening over the edge and into the shallow waters far below. All that sounded was a sickening snap as his form dispelled.

When all was said and done, Ophelia and Landstrider found themselves on the wrong side of the chasm, hanging from the tattered bridge.

"Damn it!" Rodric exclaimed.

"Climb back up, ladies! Look for a way out!" Ephaim called to them.

"There's nothing up there! That's the way we came!" Ophelia shouted back.

Looking around, it seemed the priestess was right. The only way across had been eliminated. "How about… this," Ophelia began, adjusting her grip on the bridge planks, "you press on, and we'll find a way to catch up, either by dying, or… perhaps exploring this lower part of the cave." She and the swordswoman peered into the depths below – it was not a far drop, but a rather substantial prayer would have to be offered afterwards to repair injuries.

"We can't just leave you!" Rodric protested.

"You can and you will." Ophelia retorted, looking to the knight from across the chasm. "We still have our duty, and this… will only be a minor setback."

After some deliberation, Rodric and the others proceeded onward, trekking through the tunnels on their side. Landstrider climbed down to Ophelia's level, and the two released their grips, plunging into the depths.

They crashed into shallow, simmering waters. The broken bones and internal bleeding that followed were quickly remedied with one of Ophelia's healing miracles. Landstrider observed as her shattered wrist reassembled painlessly. As it locked back into place, she gave it a few turns, nodding with approval.

As Ophelia stood to her feet, the two perceived a pattering sound, quickly approaching. They turned, and spotting a familiar figure running towards them, across the steaming waters. It was Horace, emerging from the obscuring mist beyond.

"Hail, friend." Ophelia called, waving to the man.

Horace offered no response, continuing his hurried advance. The priestess called out to him once more, but he still said nothing, quickly closing the gap. Something was wrong. Landstrider unsheathed her blade, and Ophelia channeled a divine corona in her hand.

The armored Unkindled finally caught up with the two women, but the reunion was short-lived. The man had clearly hollowed, and grunted with mindless fury as he spun his halberd like a top, spinning toward Ophelia and Landstrider.

The stoic swordswoman understood the gravity of this discovery – Anri's sole companion had gone Hollow, and she would now face her duty alone.

 _Anri_ , she lamented to herself, _you poor thing. You'll still have me_.


	13. XIII: Smouldering Lake

**~Author's Note~  
Hey, everyone. Glad to see more people are enjoying the story!  
Sorry this chapter took so dang long to write, I've been returning  
to it every few weeks to add/rewrite stuff. Even contemplated  
splitting it into a two-part chapter, but I didn't want to be a cheap-  
skate and meme you all out of a full chapter.  
**

 **Anyways, this was a fun one to write - I'm really starting to get a  
feel for these characters and their motivations, relationships, etc.  
Hope you are to, and that you keep enjoying this fic.  
**

 **Oh, and pardon the rushed ending. Ya boy works early morning shifts  
and I had to pry my eyes open to get this finished at 9:26PM!**

 **-K**

* * *

 **XIII. Smouldering Lake**

Beyond the broken remains of the wooden bridge in the cavern, the party followed a winding tunnel, illuminated by clusters of melted candles. Rodric, Anri, and Ephaim came upon a carved stone doorway, one which the proud knight pushed open with some effort. They entered a sizable chamber, replete with pillars and tapestries – rather unassuming, compared to the other grand halls the ashen ones had explored.

In the center of the room, however, was an altar; sitting upon it was an ornate chalice, one evidently made from a human skull, adorned with an extravagant crown. "Charming." Rodric remarked, approaching it. "What do you think lived here?" He inquired as he picked up the goblet, to which Ephaim immediately blurted in protest.

"Don't touch it!"

* * *

Horace lunged at Ophelia and Landstrider, his halberd swinging recklessly. The two Unkindled dodged and ducked between the frenzied swings, as they finally understood weight of the matter. The hollow knight moaned, his hoarse voice echoing hauntingly within his own helmet, bringing his halberd over his head and down upon the women.

The stoic swordswoman caught the attack with her blade, riposting with a swift kick, one that was well complemented by Ophelia's lightning bolts. Horace soared back, landing on his back in the simmering, shallow waters. Landstrider conjured a great fire orb, hurling at her assailant. She aimed true, and the flames weakened the hollow knight, dropping him to his knees. The gentle priestess approached him, channeling another lightning bolt into her hand, and driving it straight into him like a stake. Horace was dead – truly dead, this time. His corpse slowly faded as his soul was claimed by the two Unkindled.

With his death, the cavern returned to its usual silence. Landstrider inspected her Dark Hand, and noticed Ophelia eyeing it, as well.

"What is it?" The stoic swordswoman inquired.

"That… energy. On your hand."

"What about it?"

"Does… does this make you my enemy?"

Landstrider was a little taken aback, though not entirely surprised, by the priestess's line of questioning. "Why would we be enemies." She started to ask, though the inquiry soon ended as a statement, and she stepped menacingly toward Ophelia.

"This path you're traveling, Landstrider. It's evil."

"And how is that?"

"You're wielding the power of the Darkwraiths – the power of lifedrain."

"You aren't answering the question."

Ophelia stomped her foot, kicking up sulfuric water. It seemed the priestess's own sternness rivaled the swordswoman's. "Do not play coy with me, Landstrider! This fantasy you are chasing in your head, this _Lord of Hollows_ business… you are indulging in forces you do not understand!" Landstrider scoffed and shrugged in response.

"Indulging in forces…? Spare me your sermons, fair maiden."

"You truly are hopeless, aren't you?"

"Hopeless, is it? Shall I call your Lion Knight in shining armor to come rescue you?"

"You _bit_ -"

The gentle priestess paused, nearly losing her temper, and closed her eyes for a moment of meditation. Landstrider seized this opportunity and walked past her, entering a nearby tunnel. Ophelia swung around, following the swordswoman. "Don't walk away from me!" She declared, fuming with righteous anger.

* * *

Ephaim felt his eyes open, though he saw nothing. It was pure darkness. He was lying on his back, that much was apparent. A shuffling sound next to him briefly startled him, but he quickly identified it as the sound of Rodric sliding his helmet on – a rather familiar sound at this point. "Is that you, Lion Knight?" He whispered, receiving a mumbled affirmation from his friend.

"One moment, sage." The knight muttered.

A second later, a brilliant flash of light erupted as Rodric ignited his torch, holding it up like a beacon. The two spotted Anri, not far from them, rising to her feet. They were on solid ground, walking on coarse dirt. Everything else was darkness – it must have been a large cavern, as nothing else was perceivable, even in torchlight. The three united, walking along the impossibly dark stretch of earth.

The old sage noted that the torch scarcely illuminated more than a few steps ahead of the trio. A few moments later and the impending dread struck. "This is no ordinary darkness," Ephaim realized aloud, "this is… The Abyss." He could feel the anxious stare of the proud knight, and quietly shared the sentiment. However, a more immediate concern revealed itself to him, shrouded by the enveloping dark.

"Rodric," he whispered, swallowing in fear, "hold your torch forward."

The knight complied, holding the torch forward, and the light illuminated the shape of a colossal and horrifying visage before them – a gigantic skeleton, adorned with an ornate crown of gold. It was alive, too; its stained teeth chattering as its golden jewelry began to radiate, illuminating the entirety of the beast.

* * *

Landstrider had emerged from the tunnel out into a sprawling expanse of cave; a smoldering lake of shallow water stretched from one end of the cavern to another, while spiraling pillars of root and stone reached from floor to ceiling reminiscent of the ancient archtrees. Black, crystalline deposits of titanite protruded from the ground, decorating the underground. Lastly, the distinct and distant sound of heavy machinery churned on.

"How can you wield a power that drains a person's life essence, and assume that this power, as well as your duties with that sinister woman, can be of any benefit to humanity?!" Ophelia hissed, to which Landstrider about-faced, staring the priestess down.

"I'm not doing this for humanity!" She spat.

"Oh? For whom, then?"

"For me! Myself… and my allies."

Ophelia clenched her fist, her talisman quaking in her hand as divine magic crackled at her fingertips. "Landstrider," she spoke, the fury in her voice slowly transitioning into a monotonous, apathetic tone, "if you do not abandon this perverse duty of yours, I will be forced to put you down." The priestess blinked, and when her eyes reopened, only the whites remained, glowing with radiant fury. The swordswoman felt her Dark Hand pulsating with hunger – hunger for this maiden's soul. Their respective magicks gnawed at them, craving for the inevitable clash.

Suddenly, the resounding click of the distant machinery interrupted the showdown. The two turned and quickly identified the source, a massive, triple-stacked ballista, high up on faraway cliffside. A ballista that was pointed directly at them. A large _snap_ resounded across the cavern, and the women perceived a colossal bolt soaring toward them, one with rather impeccable precision.

They dove apart as the huge bolt struck the ground where they had just stood. Water and debris erupted from the strike, and the projectile remained protruding from the ground. Landstrider climbed to her knees, hearing another _snap_.

"Son of a…" she muttered.

Another bolt soared past her, nearly impaling Ophelia nearby. _One, two, three_ … the stoic swordswoman counted in her head. Another ear-ringing snap, another bolt lodging into the arch-tree pillar Landstrider hid behind. _Three seconds_ , she deduced as she pressed feverishly against the rocky column.

The machine roared to life once more, in what the gentle priestess could only intuit as the reloading of the large bolts. A scant few seconds passed, and the machine fired off the bolts again. Ophelia dove behind another arch-tree, evading the assault. Before the last one struck, she witnessed Landstrider lunging forward, dashing across the simmering waters, toward the other end of the cavern.

"Stop!" She called, pursuing the swordswoman.

There was no chance of catching up with the nimble Landstrider, Ophelia knew this. She could only hope the ballista would slow her down. As if on cue, a great bolt soared past, striking the ground next to the swordswoman, tossing her forward, flailing in the air. Ophelia closed the gap somewhat, though Landstrider recovered into a graceful roll, continuing her escape from the priestess, as they dashed across the simmering waters.

The two dodged out of the way of another onslaught of ballista fire, approaching a regal, crumbled archway, shrouded in white fog. _Another heir of fire_ , Ophelia reasoned, still trying to gain on the swordswoman, _curse this onerous pursuit!_

Suddenly, a violent rumbling commenced beneath the shallow lake. Ahead of the two Unkindled, a cascade of dirt and stone erupted from the ground, and a gargantuan Sandworm emerged. The enormous creature spun and whirled as its entire sickening length arose from the depths of the earth. It writhed violently in the air, emitting an ear-splitting scream, as its maw twitched and unleashed a storm of lightning along the ground.

Landstrider and Ophelia were repelled, flying to their backs as they convulsed in the waters. Above them, the ballista's great bolts careened past, striking the Sandworm as it weaved and burrowed back into the ground. The last bolt missed its target, lodging soundly into the wall beside the nearby fog wall.

The priestess recovered first, stumbling back into the waters as she tried to regain her footing. She was successful, evading another hail of bolts as she dove behind an arch-tree. As the Sandworm emerged again, she decided that this pursuit was no longer worth the effort, and quickly dashed back across the waters, where she identified another exit from this smoldering lake. _If that damned woman wishes to die in this cave, that's her choice!_ She hissed to herself.

Another hail of bolts impaled the Sandworm as it reared back for a second burst of lightning. Landstrider rose to her feet, taking a swig of her Estus, and charging forward. The massive worm writhed ferociously, and the swordswoman dove forward, soaring over its flailing limb with a graceful sideflip as it passed.

* * *

The sight of High Lord Wolnir, the great skeleton that stared down the ashen ones, was a grand and horrifying one. A haunting, pestilent mist emanated from its body, slowly suffocating Ephaim, who lacked the helmets of his peers. Additionally, the lumbering monstrosity had no legs, as its body ended at the tip of the spine, and the creature seemed only capable of dragging itself along on its lithe arms, which were adorned with shimmering, golden bracelets. Draped upon the High Lord was sickening cloak of skulls, intertwined amongst the lavish chains and necklaces of the undead monarch.

With a chilling sigh, Wolnir reared its torso back, and slammed its bony fists into the earth. The shockwave knocked the trio to the ground, and Anri was the first to stand, her sword poised. Unsure of where to strike, she charged the great skeleton, hacking and slashing at its ribcage. Nothing of note seemed to happen, though the foul aura surrounding the skeleton seemed to slowly sap her strength.

Rodric joined her, and even the old sage assisted from further back, casting soul arrows at Wolnir's skull. Still, the undead monarch was unfazed.

It lurched back once more, swinging its fist at the trio, and knocking them down. Ephaim's head slammed violently against the ground, almost knocking him out, momentarily eliminating his ability to hear. In panic, he scrambled to his feet, stumbling as he recovered from his concussion. He heard nothing but the vibrations of his own grunts echoing through his skull, as well as the shockwaves of Wolnir's fists striking the ground. The monstrosity swung its bony hand across the dirt, striking Rodric and sending him careening into the Abyss, though he lumbered back from the darkness a few moments later.

At this moment, the old sage eyed the glowing bracelets of the undead monarch, curious given the impossibly dark nature of the Abyss. A hypothesis began constructing itself in his concussed head, and he quickly rejoined the fray with his Unkindled companions.

Another skeletal fist struck the ground, but Ephaim tried a different approach. He channeled a soul greatsword with his staff, conjuring a shimmering blade from his catalyst, and drove it into one of the bracelets. It shattered in a brilliant flash of blinding light, sending the High Lord reeling back. For a moment, the monster seemed to share the same panic the old sage felt earlier, clawing frantically at the ground, as if to keep itself from drifting into the darkness.

Wolnir hissed and cried as it flailed about, though he suddenly grew quiet. The chamber was silent, aside from the ominous drone of the undead monarch's pestilent aura. The trio glanced amongst each other, poising for whatever tricks the creature had in store.

Rumbling began, shaking the very earth beneath the three Unkindled. Wolnir lurched forward, its poisonous air creeping forward, quickly repelling the trio. A shimmering glyph appeared on the ground, and the monstrosity reached into it, its hand disappearing in the light. After a moment, Wolnir procured a great, holy sword from the glyph, one which glowed with divine energies.

The colossal monarch channeled its power, holding it aloft, as dark clouds began to appear across the narrow battlefield. From them emerged a small horde of skeletons, brandishing swords and spears. The trio quickly banded together as the creatures inched closer.

"Gods preserve us." Rodric muttered.

* * *

Ophelia had reached the gravel shores of the smoldering lake, stumbling from the simmering waters and falling to her knees in exhaustion. The ballista could not strike her from here, as she had rounded a corner to the other side of the cavern. Not that it mattered, as whatever forces commanded that ballista seemed more focused on Landstrider and the Sandworm, as bolts sailed off after them in the distance.

She observed the stoic swordswoman from afar, watching her graceful movements as she sliced away at the writhing monstrosity. A pity such skill was wasted on such a lost soul, she thought with dismay. Another flurry of bolts struck the Sandworm, and after all of the tribulations, seemed to finally fell it. The colossal worm collapsed to the ground, fading into the ether as its great soul drifted into Landstrider, and she carried on. Ophelia decided to carry on, as well. Their paths had wholly diverged now.

There was a way forward, through a sort of crypt – the depths of the Carthus Catacombs, the priestess reasoned. As she entered, she discovered an old, unlit bonfire; a sight for sore eyes. She ignited it, and rested her weary body there.

However, she quickly recovered and stood. _My true friends need me_ , she thought, _and I've been too long away_. She proceeded through the hallowed chambers of the crypt, emerging into a large hall, littered with bones and old swords. There would be no surprises this time. As she passed by, she inspected the bones sliding across the floor, assembling into skeletons. They were quickly dispatched with divine magic.

Ascending a flight of stairs, though, Ophelia was greeted by a far more troublesome roadblock – a great, hulking, fiery beast stood between her and her way forward. A Chaos Demon, the blasphemous enemies of the Lord of Cinder, as she recalled. Evidently, the last of its kind, melted greataxe in hand. It reared back, swinging its lugged blade at her.

* * *

Landstrider took a swig of her Estus Flask, checking anxiously behind her. It seemed the gentle priestess had slinked away during the assault. Fine by her. Whatever mysteries lay in these ruins, they called to the swordswoman, beckoning her deeper. Before that, however, she proceeded through the fog wall, to face whatever heir of fire compelled her this far.

Stepping through the mist, she stared down a cragged, stone statue of an ancient beast. She knew what it was, too. It was a Chaos Demon, one of the children of Izalith, from the old stories. As she approached, it appeared to warp in her vision, like a mirage on cobblestone during the long summers. It was then she understood that it was returning to life. Embers danced from its stony corpse as some spark of life seemed to overtake the petrified demon, bringing it to its feet and is became shrouded in fire. This was no ordinary Chaos Demon… it was the Old Demon King.

* * *

The army of skeletons grew the longer the Unkindled spent in the presence of Wolnir, who seemed capable of conjuring them faster than they were being cut down. The trio soon found themselves surrounded by their skeletal assailants. Rodric repelled a great many with his mighty shield, and Anri kept the horde at bay with her lucky sword, but Ephaim knew the odds were vanishing quickly from their favor. Something would have to change fast.

Ophelia evocated a divine ward from her talisman, hoping to absorb the incoming axe swing that she could not dodge. It worked, somewhat, as only the kinetic force of the attack impacted her, rather than the jagged edges of the greataxe. She soared back, slamming into a wall as chalky, stone debris cascaded to the floor. She noticed more reanimating skeletons approaching from the lower levels, though they seemed fixated on the Chaos Demon, as well. Perhaps the situation was not as dire as it seemed.

The stoic swordswoman had an innate understanding of pyromancy, though often wished she had explored more of it, though she must have dedicated more time to swordplay. The fireweaving on display here, against the Old Demon King, was something to behold. Landstrider could learn much from this; more importantly, however, she had to survive. The colossal beast wielded a great warhammer, thrashing and slamming it about, kicking up bursts of fire. In between its assaults, Landstrider did what she could to whittle away at the monster, as it blasted gouts of flame at her.

A rusted blade clattered against Anri's armor, and she retorted with a swift riposte, disassembling her skeletal assailant. Ephaim took a similar blade through his left shoulder, eliciting a pained cry from his lips; Rodric hefted his shield over to his friend, absorbing a second blow while he drew his lance across the encroaching mob of undead. As they fought, Wolnir crept nearer, swinging his holy sword across the horde of minions, sending bones and blades scattering across the endless hall to make way. For each that he cut down, he merely conjured two more with his magic blade, and he eventually closed the gap. The undead monarch reared back once more, expelling a pestilent cloud of abyssal poison, slowly engulfing the trio.

The Chaos Demon leapt into the air, hanging for a moment, before slamming into the ground with unparalleled force. A fiery shockwave emanated from where it landed, instantly shattering the skeletons surrounding it. Ophelia healed herself with a brief prayer, slowly rising to her feet, small flames licking at her charred robes. She was beyond finished toying with this unholy monstrosity. As the righteous fury grew within her, she felt an equal growth in her own power. She gripped her talisman, slowly channeling a sunlight spear in her hand, approaching the enormous demon. Debris crackled with glowing energy as she passed, some even hovering from the ground for a moment. She blinked, and as her eyes reopened, once again, only the whites were there. The demon brought its greataxe down upon her, and she held up her hand, evocating a divine ward. Suddenly, the monster's lugged axe shattered on impact, leaving it momentarily stunned. The sunlight spear did the rest. Proceeding to the top of the crypt hall, she came upon an outcropping in a familiar cavern – beside her was the tattered remains of the collapsed bridge, hanging from the ledge above. If it could support her weight, she reasoned that she might be able to scale it, and soon reunite with her companions.

At the same time, the Old Demon King fell to its knees in front of the stoic swordswoman, who approached it calmly, flames dancing at her fingertips. She had learned much this battle, and it seemed she had surpassed her unwitting teacher. The beast dropped its hammer, curling up like a small child as it roared in defiance. Landstrider drew closer, but quickly realized her error. Holding her arms up instinctively, she took the full brunt of the Old Demon King's last trick – an explosive burst of energy, perhaps the last of its ancient magic. An eruption so powerful, the stoic swordswoman was sent soaring back against a rock formation, covered in flames. She nearly died on impact, collapsing to the ground. With her last ounce of strength, she uncapped her Estus Flask onto the ground in front of her, and the warm liquid rolled along the earth, passing across her nigh-unconscious lips. Her strength very slowly returned, and she compelled herself forward to finish off the Old Demon King. A sword through its head was sufficient, and she diligently collected its sovereignless soul. With this heir of fire snuffed, she turned her attention to the ruins beyond this demon's abode. She pressed forward, following the whispers of ancient knowledge pulling at her very soul.

* * *

It was down to Rodric and Anri, as Ephaim had collapsed to the ground, unable to rise to his feet under the onslaught of skeletons. Wolnir's toxic mist had engulfed the trio, quickly sapping their strength. The proud knight had to summon the very depths of his willpower just to repel a single blow from a sword, and Anri was similarly ready to give in. Her strength wavered for a moment, and for her failure, she was punished with a sword through the stomach, piercing between the metal plates of her armor. She cried in pain, stumbling into Rodric's back, who now faced the horde alone.

He swung his shield and spear across, deflecting strikes and lancing his attackers, shouldering the other attacks with his armor as best he could. If he could manage to destroy another one of Wolnir's bracelets, he might be able to briefly repel this attack. _There is nothing to lose_ , he reasoned to himself, looking at his fallen friends, writhing on the ground, choking on the pestilent fog. Mustering all the strength he could, he spun in a circle, his shield catching all of the incoming blows. As he rounded back onto his heel, he twirled his spear in his hand, hurling it like a javelin towards the High Lord. It flew true, boring through a minion's skull as it carried forth, straight into a shimmering bracelet on Wolnir's wrist. As it shattered, the proud knight fell to his knees.

The golden bracelet erupted, and the undead monarch screeched in pain, shaking the very earth with its cries. The monarch reeled back into the darkness as its skeletal horde paused a moment. That was not all, however.

A glowing discus of divine energy soared across the battlefield, cutting through a dozen skeletons before colliding with Wolnir's face. The trio turned, in unison, to see Ophelia, with shimmering coronas in each hand. The gentle priestess looked stern, unyielding in her conviction, her eyes glowed pure white. It would seem some holy wrath had taken over her.

Rodric was still on his knees, like his companions, wearily holding his mighty shield with one arm. He watched Ophelia in awe. She was now his savior, like some sort of angel. He watched as she danced through the horde, swinging and slashing and dancing with her coronas, cutting through skeletons like it was nothing. As she approached High Lord Wolnir, she spun a final time, releasing her coronas, which both soared through the air and struck the monarch's last bracelet, which exploded in spectacular light.

The old sage's eyes opened with strain. Looking down at him was the steel visage of Anri, offering him the Estus Flask from his belt. He took it, glancing over her shoulder, staring as Wolnir clawed feverishly at the earth – something was pulling him violently into the darkness. Perhaps his blessed jewelry was the only thing protecting him from the influence of the Abyss. An ear-splitting scream quieted into silence as the undead monarch was carried away forever.

Ophelia descended to the trio, lifting them to their feet. In Rodric's eyes, she was some kind of messiah. If he had any doubts before, he was now resolute – Ophelia, this gentle and humble maiden, deserved a knight. Rodric would be that knight, and he pledged to himself to be her anchor.


	14. XIV: The Demon Ruins

**~ Author's Note ~  
Guys!  
I can't remember if I promised to be better about  
posting these chapters, but if I did, I goofed up  
again! Real life got in the way - don't worry, not  
anything bad, just lots of Minecraft! My writing  
bug has gotten to the point where I'm writing lore  
for a Minecraft world... yikes, someone save me.  
Anyways, enjoy the chapter, everyone! Take a guess  
who my favorite character is... it might be yours, too.  
\- K  
**

 **XIV. The Demon Ruins**

Beneath the catacombs, beneath the High Lord's chambers, beneath even the Smouldering Lake, unseen paths revealed themselves to Landstrider, who followed them further and further into the earth. The heat was intense down here, but the stoic swordswoman was scarcely bothered by it – the warmth was comforting to her, like a bonfire, though it felt more reminiscent of a time she couldn't quite identify. It all felt strangely familiar, and she knew she belonged down here.

She descended a crumbling staircase into a stone corridor, emerging into a great hall. A tapestry of weathered archways and scorched architecture stretched on beyond her. Littered across the floor were piles of corpses – bodies of what appeared to be demons. Lesser demons, likely the spawn of the Old Demon King, from what Landstrider intuited. Decorating the walls were statues of the same creatures, though many were in shambles, broken apart. Much of the damage looked intentional, as if something arrived and defiled these hallowed halls.

With that thought in mind, the swordswoman then noticed the inhabitants of these ruins – Ghrus, the goat-demons that assaulted the party in Farron Keep. Perhaps there had been a changing of the guards down here.

The whispers in her mind did not grow louder, but stronger, more focused. The language was unintelligible, but Landstrider knew what the voices said. They beckoned her forward, deeper into the hall. They also told her the name of this place – the Demon Ruins.

"Fitting." She mused dryly to herself, drawing her sword.

* * *

When the fog lifted, the Unkindled once again found themselves in Wolnir's chambers; the goblet that once sat on the altar was now gone, and all was still. Ephaim timidly stepped forward, finding a waist-high ledge on one of the decorative pillars, and leaning upon it.

"My friends… forgive me for failing you all." He lamented, slinking to the floor and sitting.

Rodric walked to him, setting his spear and shield on the ground, and placing a hand on the old sage's shoulder. "Ephaim," he spoke, his voice a rare tone of gentleness, one almost unrecognizable to the others, "we are all in this together. One of us falls, we pick you back up. Do you understand me?" The old sage nodded, but was clearly defeated by recent circumstances.

"Be that as it may, Lion Knight," he replied, looking up to him, "I fear you will be picking me up much more in the coming trials."

"You are speaking of Irithyll." Rodric predicted.

Ephaim nodded.

"What is it, exactly, that troubles you? We are here to carry you through."

The old sage stood, dusting his robes off, and spoke. "I shall lead us through the city – I know the way forward. More importantly, I knew where the path will take us… " Rodric awaited the answer.

"… to Pontiff Sulyvahn, my old mentor." The words hung in the air like some miasma, infecting all who heard. Rodric eyed him anxiously – that name was familiar to him, in some way, but he could not quite place how.

"Ophelia," Anri spoke gingerly, breaking the heavy silence, and stepping into the midst of her companions, "forgive me for interrupting, but where is Landstrider?" The gentle priestess turned to her, a mixture of grief and disappointment written upon her face, admitting, "She is elsewhere occupied, exploring the ruins below the catacombs."

Anri inspected her cautiously, looking to the sage and knight in confusion. "Mustn't… mustn't we go down and find her?" She inquired.

"I am afraid not," Ophelia replied gravely, fumbling with her talisman, "she has made it clear that our endeavor interests her none. She would much rather entertain… perverted fantasies of lordship." The looked to Rodric, then, with deep concern, "She wields the power of lifedrain – the profaned magic of the Darkwraiths. It is what she used against that interloper on the bridge… she pulled the life from his body."

"What?!" Ephaim sputtered in disbelief. "Where did she acquire this ability?"

"I know not for certain," the priestess explained, "but I suspect it was gifted to her by the woman she colludes with in Firelink Shrine."

' _The woman she colludes with?'_ Anri ruminated to herself, _that cannot be right… I thought I had her intentions figured out_. _I thought I knew her._ "At any rate," Ophelia concluded, "she pressed onwards, further into those ruins. She is treading her own path, now. We had something of a… falling out." She walked forward, swiftly joined by Rodric as they continued to the other end of the chamber. "Ophelia," the proud knight whispered as she approached, out of earshot of their companions, "I wasn't sure you'd come back… what happened down there?"

The gentle priestess glanced at Anri, shifting closer to her knight as she quietly explained, "We found Horace." Rodric's eyes widened, and he briefly shared her glance to their Astoran comrade. She was preoccupied, speaking with the old sage. Ophelia looked back to him, nodding solemnly.

"He had turned." She uttered.

Anri stood above Ephaim, helping him rise to his feet. "I'm fine, I'm fine." He implored, taking a restorative swig of his Estus Flask. "I confess, my lady, I am left with more questions than answers."

"And I, as well, sage. Oh, Landstrider…" Anri sighed.

"Well, my dear, there's always a silver lining – at least we can be miserable together!" Ephaim chuckled defeatedly, looking to the large doorway at the end of the room. Beyond it was Irithyll, where all his anxieties and burdens first sprouted. He stood silently a moment, then joined Anri as they caught up to the knight and priestess.

* * *

The Demon Ruins were a miserable place. Landstrider cursed herself for following the mysterious whispers of her conscience. Fireballs and spears crashed against the walls surrounding her as goat-demon monstrosities pursued her deeper into the stone corridors. Her robes were singed with embers, and as she rounded a corner, she batted them away. The clattering sound of hooves on cobblestone echoed through the hall beside her, and she ambushed her Ghru pursuers with her sword.

It drove right through a goat-demon's face, and Landstrider nearly lost her grip on the handle. She felt her strength sap for a moment, as the sword shimmered with a brief, red glow. Curious. The stoic swordswoman knew her blade's power drew from her own lifeforce, but she must have lost track of how long she had been using it lately. Another Ghru arrived, one that was quickly cut down. Landstrider felt her strength wain again as she leaned against a cragged, stone wall. She inspected her hand through its wrappings, which looked much more ghoulish than she recalled.

 _What sort of metamorphosis am I undergoing?_ She inquired to herself.

More goat-demons awaited her as she plunged deeper into the haunting ruins, but after a time, she came across a curious sight – a giant, petrified spider, though rather than a bulbous, fanged head, it had the torso of a woman. The entire thing was long dead, encased in stone, perhaps tempered by the demonic flames of these ruins. It looked like a Witch of Izalith, as described in the old stories. With this sight, the whispers quickened in her mind, speaking at conversation volume, and proving rather distracting.

Landstrider then noticed a book at the foot of the creature – a tome bound in dark cloth with a golden trim. "Impossible." The swordswoman declared, cautiously approaching the old grimoire. In her mind, the voices grew louder, more intense. She knew this book, or at the very least, knew the ramifications of this book being here. Each step she took, the voices loudened. It was as if they came from the book itself. She reached her hand forward, the murmuring turning to chanting. This place was not merely the Demon Ruins. Her fingers extended as the voices began bellowing and shouting. Landstrider could hardly focus as her mind became a cacophony of screaming, her hand shaking as she strained to touch the face of the book. Her fingers brushed the cloth-bound tome, and suddenly, the violent roaring ceased immediately.

The swordswoman fell to her knees, gasping and panting in the silence, the ancient book in her hand. As she caught her breath, she inspected the tome. The cloth that bound it, she quickly intuited, was cut from the robe of a Chaos Witch – undoubtedly the fabled Quelana, master pyromancer. It was as if touching the face of this book inoculated her with sweeping knowledge of Izalith, which she now understood was reclaimed by the magma, coalescing into the Demon Ruins. She was standing in what was left of the great Lost Izalith. The sensation was so powerful, Landstrider could have sworn she was merely recalling the information, as if she had lived in this very place.

* * *

Ephaim walked alongside Rodric as Ophelia and Anri followed behind. They emerged from the hallowed Catacombs of Carthus, stepping onto the precipice of a cliff, one that overlooked the haunting, moonlit beauty of Irithyll. The proud knight felt his lips part in awe as he took in the chilling splendor of the place. Great spires and pointed rooftops protruded from a tangled network of beautifully preserved buildings, through which roads of cobblestone elegantly winded through. It was as if the end of the world made a mistake, and forgot to tarnish this pale realm.

"It's just as I remember it." The old sage murmured without an ounce of his usual personality.

The party approached a long bridge, one that stretched across a wide canal, leading directly into the center of the city. As they crossed, Rodric questioned Ephaim. "What happened to this place? Where is everyone?" The old sage's head hung in defeat, "It was like this long before any of us died, I'm afraid." He swayed his staff forward, as if he was quietly addressing all of the Boreal Valley.

"Below this city is the Profaned Capital, where I once served under the tutelage of Pontiff Sulyvahn. We were Oracles of the Profaned Flame, then, you see – the undying fire beneath the earth. Something…" he began, before quieting a moment, "… went horribly wrong. We went our separate ways, but his presence haunted me all the same."

Ephaim looked over the silent city, speaking, "It seemed he finally got that quiet study he always wanted. This place is a graveyard."

Rodric continued alongside his friend, asking, "Did he still have faithful servants, even after… whatever happened to the Profaned Capital?" The old sage nodded feverishly, "Oh, yes, indeed! Sulyvahn had an order of Pontiff Knights, all of whom roamed his streets and silenced any voices of dissent. The most loyal among them received his rings."

"Rings?"

"Yes, blessings of Sulyvahn, himself. His watchdogs were given the rings, and the longer they wore them, the more… beastlike they became."

"Like Vordt." Rodric replied. "The watchdog of the Boreal Valley."

Strangely, he did not receive an affirmation from the old sage. The proud knight turned to Ephaim, instead finding his companions stopped in their tracks. A curious mist emerged from the end of the bridge where they first crossed, a shroud not dissimilar to the one that conjured Vordt at the High Wall of Lothric. There was, however, a key difference – something different was emerging from this void. It was a large, quadrupedal beast, with six eyes and an elongated snout. The monster was covered in matted fur, and brandished razor-sharp claws and a thousand jagged fangs. A large wound decorated its stomach, revealing a stained and splintered ribcage, chattering like teeth.

It emerged from the mist, howling and screaming as it immediately charged the party. There was still some distance between the monstrosity and the Unkindled, and they quickly sprinted to cross the last half of the long bridge. As he ran, Ephaim channeled a ring of soulmasses around him, which quickly soared off toward the beast. They crackled and dissipated against its body, scarcely hindering the creature. Instead, this elicited another angered, ear-splitting howl, almost sending the sage and priestess to the ground in shock. Anri and Rodric weathered the scream through their helmets, and helped their companions cross the rest of the bridge.

As they approached the courtyard of Irithyll, they observed a translucent wall at the end of the bridge, much like the fog walls scattered about the fallen kingdoms, but much thinner. It wavered and shifted in place, and the old sage procured Aldrich's metal doll from his pocket as he reached the threshold. With the figurine clasped tightly in his hand, Ephaim led his comrades through the wall, which chimed as they crossed it. The old sage fell to his knees in exhaustion, glancing back across the bridge.

His vision was immediately filled with the colossal presence of the beast, lunging at him, maw stretched open. Ephaim cried sharply, holding his arms forward, though the attack never landed. Instead, the beast slammed against the magic barrier, wailing and screaming in protest. Ophelia inspected the metal doll in the old sage's hand, and then turned to observe the great beast slink away, fading back into its shrouded fog and disappearing entirely.

"I confess, I am no longer enthralled by this place." The priestess remarked quietly.

* * *

Landstrider pored through the ancient tome, but could not understand what she was reading. The words made sense, but the concepts, the very order the words were put in, were entirely foreign to her. _The Profaned Flame_ , she repeated to herself. She would need to seek the help of a master pyromancer, if any still existed. Pondering this, she looked up to the petrified arachnid-woman above her. _Well, certainly none left here_. She mused.

She struggled to her feet, the immense fatigue of following the whispers finally alleviating. Flipping back to the first page of the tome, the stoic swordswoman once again inspected the text. Those three words, again, hanging over her like an omen.

 _The Profaned Flame_.

With the book now in her possession, the swordswoman felt an intoxicating clarity. She knew what she had to do, and where to go. Her answers lie in Irithyll, and furthermore, her duties as the Lord of Hollows, as well. She knew it. No whispers were guiding her any longer, and with her clarity came the realization that she now stood in a stiflingly hot ruin, far below the earth.

She needed to leave.

Navigating back through the weathered tunnels was nigh unforgiving, as she was beset on all sides by goat-demons and petrified monstrosities. The voices that led her here seemed to have no care for escorting her back out, and the way was unfamiliar to the swordswoman. After what seemed like an eternity, she ascended the stairs back up to the Smouldering Lake. Across the simmering waters, she noticed another crumbled stone passageway. This must have been where Ophelia fled after the Sandworm emerged. An unpleasant feeling followed the thought of that pristine maiden, but Landstrider ignored it and pressed forward, avoiding the ballista's great bolts as she crossed the lake.

As she reentered the depths of the Carthus Catacombs, she saw a sovereignless soul floating about, in a relatively undisturbed hallway. The swordswoman inspected her surroundings first – there were certainly skeletons here, once. Charred bones were strewn about, likely the product of Ophelia's righteous fury, Landstrider reasoned.

The swordswoman touched the soul, which materialized into a pile of bandages in her hand. She grunted in confusion as she inspected what she was holding. There was a heat in these bandages, and with that, she realized she was holding the hallowed blindfold of a true pyromancer. _Oh my_ , she thought, in a rare tone of surprise, _I'm not even fit to carry this!_

She ascended back up to the Catacombs proper, all the while pondering the old tales of the Witches of Izalith. _The flame reveals all, and obscures all_.


End file.
